


Inconsequential Beginnings

by OptimalSagacity



Series: Extemporaneous [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mech Hormones, Mpreg, Past Abuse, Romance, Sexual Interfacing, Starscream has a spark, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Torture, Unresolved Sexual Tension, slight infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 65,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4753196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimalSagacity/pseuds/OptimalSagacity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream's finally the leader of the Decepticons. Soundwave is struggling to figure out this new dynamic as he is forced to come to terms that he is to serve the seeker as his lieutenant. Their struggle to find the <i>right</i> way to cooperate ensues (as well as their inevitable attraction to one another).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heat: The Art of Berthwarming

Tension was palpable aboard the Nemesis. The leader pointedly strode to the control console where the Chief of Communications stood occupied, diligently working, digits clinking against the backlit keys fluidly, never ceasing. The commander’s wings flicked at the lack of recognition he earned from his deputy as he moved languidly to hover behind the lithe mech, servos tucked neatly at the base of his compact spinal struts. His wings twitched a second time, fanning out and perking up though spreading his EM field out and around (as if he needed to—he wasn’t out to conceal his presence, after all). He slipped close enough to feel the heat radiating off of his lieutenant. He was aware his deputy was fully informed he was a servo away (he just had the gall to ignore his superior, not that it was a new behavior). The commander’s flaunted EM field insistently swelled, prodding at his subordinate’s retracted one.

The obsidian officer was deeply immersed in his work, slightly hunched over the console. The violet biolights that lined his plating created a soft glow in the absence of overhead lighting. The seeker inched ever closer to his deputy, gradually but consistently squandering whatever personal barrier that lie unspoken between them. In fact, he stood so close to his lieutenant, that the mech trying but failing to retain some illusion of focus at the keyboard could detect the smothering warmth of the seeker’s vents against his upper spinal plating. It tickled as it ghosted over the sensor laden armor.

Soundwave tensed. It was rather unobtrusive if he didn’t focus on it much, he decided, only a tease of warm vents against his sensitive armor panels. It was a far, distant observation though, as most of his cognitive functioning was at the moment occupied processing code, and meticulously receiving strings of information through a feeler that was jacked into the main computing console. He was a mech who excelled in multi-tasking, but there was a touch of something about the other’s proximity that distracted the miniscule, unoccupied portion of his processor that usually functioned as his thinking module while he worked. One that brought those mentioned sensitive panels into a considerably more vulnerable state. One twitched (followed closely by another). Then following, another shifted, reacting to the seeker’s proximity and the heat emitted from his frame. Soundwave swallowed thickly.

Excessive heat, it seemed like. Soundwave wouldn’t give the seeker the satisfaction of letting on that the lack of breathing room between them was thoroughly distracting him—it was making him hot and bothered, and flustered for no slagging reason! The second in command vented an inaudibly soft sigh (Primus above), and supposed he should have been used to Starscream’s goading. He swore it was in the seeker’s energon, inherent and destined to slowly drive Soundwave insane. This solar cycle was different, though. The last thing he wanted was to fall into the pattern he had prepared himself so meticulously for, and lose focus. A loss of control was a sign of weakness, and he couldn’t afford that.

No, not with Starscream. 

He attempted to give it no mind, he really did. He was the most stoic mech in this Primus forsaken base, he wouldn’t let something so minor break that. He would not let Starscream of all mechs take from him any more than he already had. The situation at hand required none other than a good flesh-piercing glare, and a standoff between himself and the pompous Air Commander who always seemed to be trying to pry into his personal life (and not to mention space). He had tried to blow off the flier in enough ways that Soundwave had presumed Starscream had gotten the hint. Too bad for the lieutenant, because that seemed to perk the adamant seeker’s interest further, to the point which Starscream had started to hover. Soundwave decided he could deal with it—(he adamantly ignored the persistent flier, and it had worked out for a good while) that is until nature had arrived to spite the spy. There was no doubt the Communications Officer was a _very _capable mech. Yet, his ‘leader’ found ways of slipping into his personal space more often nowadays and lucky him, a familiar burn had decided only three megacycles ago that now would be the opportune time to activate heat protocols. Fragging. Heat. Soundwave felt like smashing his mask into the console, and observing his commander’s reaction to _that _.____

The heat from Starscream’s armor caressed the veins that ran closer to the surface of his plating, turning Soundwave’s processor towards things that were far from work-oriented. It pried at the more primitive wiring of neural network, tantalizingly inviting. He internally cringed. The seeker did not fit into the role of a superior in his processor, and it felt wrong to consider the seeker his commanding officer. He knew the flier strived off of authority, so this display would have been waved off easily, if not for the tingling sensations twisting through his sensornet and inspiring unsavory inquiries to pop up, successfully interrupting his unbreakable focus.

“Soundwave, how is everything coming along? You’ve been at this since the early morning.” Starscream observed in a voice laced with a hint of frustration. Ego dampened slightly would do the jet a world of good. Soundwaved huffed.

“Mining site faring well: collection rate up by 10%. Eradicons working on bringing last of energon: into Nemesis storage banks by tonight.” The assassin mech spoke using a strange combination of Knock Out’s vocalizations. The spy reveled in the prickle that came from Starscream’s EM field in response. Soundwave had been thoroughly convinced that this (whatever this was precisely, he still wasn’t sure) was what the seeker had wanted. Megatron was a mindless heap of metal somewhere in the ship, with a thick, singular tube sprouting from his spark chamber, optics as lifeless as Earth stones. It was, to Soundwave’s disappointment, the inevitable outcome that Starscream should take his place as the successor to the Decepticons. As much as the Communications Officer wanted to believe his ex-leader and former friend would be functional again, it was a lost cause. It was more for himself than anything that Megatron lie all tied up in wires and tubes. He had meticulously collected information, taken precious time to study his unresponsive lord, scanned every inch of the Primus condemned ship and the ground below for something.

_Anything. ___

He tired his systems by desperately searching for where he personally went wrong. He considered that he had missed something in the grand scheme of things, which put him to shame—he was a fragging spy, for Primus’ sake!! But his efforts were cut short by a certain superior.

_Your time searching for a resolution that doesn’t exist is better suited to continuing work here. He is gone, Soundwave. If you want to keep him, fine, but the war doesn’t cease just because his funtioning did. _So the warlord remained in the bowels of the ship because Soundwave had postured at the remark from Starscream that their former leader was taking up space. There had been no more mentioning the lifeless frame downstairs.__

A surge of irritation surged through Soundwave’s protoform, and was promptly combatted by the heat that skittered across its surface.

The seeker was no fool. He had grown keen to Soundwave’s reclusive demeanor and behavioral patterns in a short time he had been his legitimate leader, and noted their significance, however minute they were. The deputy had been ordered by his new lord specifically to tend to his station, here, in the control room. He wasn’t to stray from the upper decks unless ordered. The Commander knew all too well with whom the spy’s loyalties had been with. He was not about to let down a chance to assert his dominance over Soundwave; to come between the mech and that glitch of a leader they had all suffered under for so long after his sanity had gone to the Pit. Starscream wasn’t cruel. No—he might have been full of himself, he might have been traitorous to a tee with Megatron, but he would not break Soundwave. That was not his goal (not now at least). He wouldn’t deny that the temptation had been there, at a time, and he had strongly considered giving the entitled glitch a taste of how he felt being the less favored of the lot…but that was the past. He had thought it through, and decided a different course of action. He would prove himself superior, keeping Soundwave on a tight leash, but not out of spite. He didn’t _loathe _Soundwave the way he had Megatron…it was only a matter of rank. He required Soundwave’s cooperation to keep the Decepticon army in prime condition. It would take time. He was willing to wait for it though, as Soundwave was a valuable asset.__

Soundwave’s slender digits flitted over the bright keys in deft strokes. He turned his helm slightly right to catch the seeker’s attention. Just a tilt. Only the observant leader would recognize it as a request for his attention. In dealing with a mech that was often so silent (and at times just blatantly stone cold in response to the seeker’s presence) he had to be alert. Starscream’s optic ridge lifted in inquiry. “Ah. Very good, Soundwave. As I suspected.”

The leader of the Decepticons hummed, as though it really deserved such recognition, and reached out to place a clawed servo on the assassin’s shoulder plating. The seeker reveled in his position, as he felt thin ligaments contract beneath his palm. A smirk tugged at his dermal plating. _‘Oh, I will win you over…’ _he confirmed for himself. He felt the silent Con’s EM field retract like a rubber band in apprehension. It made the Air Commander stall for a moment, and rethink for a nanoklick. The lord was aware of the times he had used his clawed servos to inflict damage upon other cons aboard the ship. He couldn’t exactly blame Soundwave for his especially prim demeanor, although it was increasingly odd that his most bitter subordinate would express the discomfort outwardly. ‘How very unlike him…’__

He left the servo there, adding to the highly reserved spy’s discomfort. Starscream squeezed the shoulder hinge reassuringly, and the action sent pleasure blooming through the assassin’s internals, straight to his pelvic region. The seeker could have sworn the plating under his servo full on shifted. It amused him to see his second so conflicted by his presence, giving him the attention he demanded as a superior officer even if it was minute. Compared to the gladiator who now lay deep within the bowels of the ship, Soundwave was smaller in both stature and build. It stroked the seeker’s ego to see Soundwave so...subservient. He had always envied the fact that it there had only been one mech who had been able to do this before. Megatron didn’t deserve the Communications mech. To lay a servo on the precious, oh so highly-valued Communications Officer was now his own right. He now solely possessed that privilege.

A smirk splayed over his silver dermas.

The spy had worth to the seeker, no doubt. He would be a reliable mech—that is, if he wasn’t tied up in the fantasy that the trashed, scrap-metal frame in the bowels of the ship was in any way salvageable. It was such a waste really. It irked him. He knew that the dark plated mech was intelligent. He realized that he would have to amplify his efforts to get through to him. In his time as leader, he also had taken time to observe the uniquely sleek build that was all Soundwave. To express it simply, there was no denying that the telepath’s frame was exquisite. The seeker often fought with his past opinion of the spy and the heated attraction he felt towards him. He was simply alluring. There was no reason he could conjure up, besides the fact Soundwave’s rebuild after his gladiator days had put him on a pedestal. No wonder Megatron had been so protective over his third in command. Starscream felt his shoulder plating prickle with annoyance. ‘To think that Megatron was so close to Soundwave…’

The thought of his former leader and his lieutenant fragging created an acrid sensation that laid bitter in his mouth. His dermas turned down and he debated clearing and purging his CPU later on just to rid that image from his processor. He took in a deep vent, and nearly lost his cool. There was something amiss…he wasn’t all too sure, but there was a scent that lingered heavy over his glossa. It stirred something within him. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself—it wouldn’t do for his cooling fans to kick on here. He cleared his throat. 

“Soundwave. I would like you to meet me in my quarters after your shift is finished. There are some matters that I wish to discuss with you personally,” the seeker grazed his clawed servos over the cabling that wound up and into Soundwave’s neck plating, trying to make it seem unintentional. A chill passed through the Chief of Communications, and his plating trembled. Soundwave cursed his traitorous frame. It didn’t go unnoticed by the seeker. Nor did the muted series of clicks that escaped the dark-plated mech’s vocalizer unhindered (undoubtedly signaling unwanted acceptance at that touch). Soundwave wished the floor of the ship would open up and envelope him. Starscream dared to push in closer to the mech’s sensitive spinal plating; his hips pushed flush against the spy’s lower back. Soundwave was burning up. “Actually, now that I think about it—that is an order, lieutenant. I will be expecting you.” Starscream leaned in to brush the officer’s audial before squeezing Soundwave’s shoulder joint again. He then turned, and walked away, his heels marking his retreat. He glanced back and noticed that for once, the assassin’s servos were still, hovering idly over the glowing keys, his slender digits trembling. How nice of his commander to worm his way into his space and not deliver (not that the spy wanted him to).

“Yes: Commander Starscream,” it came out interrupted and static-filled with the recording, which was in fact Knock Out’s smarmy vocalizer echoing from Soundwave’s vocoder. Starscream paused and turned to regard his deputy. In an effort to save face, Soundwave mocked his leader the best way he knew how at the moment. Soundwave didn’t spare him a glance. The Air Commander clucked his glossa.

“Mocking me will not get rid of me, dear _lieutenant _,” Starscream found his patience running thin momentarily, as he retreated into the darker area of the room. He rubbed at his nasal sensors. “It would do worlds of good for you to get it through your processor early on, lest more ‘talks’ be implemented. It is for your own good, after all.” Starscream replied, his sharp tone back where it should be. The silver flier’s wings perked up just slightly as he exited the Command deck, rubbing at his nasal sensors as the sweet scent dissipated. Primus condemn his CPU, he would not run back in there. He would wait like a civil mech and ascertain his suspicions were true.__

~

Soundwave eased his feeler from the two-way connection port, forcing as much of the useless scrap that had wound its way into his processor back into the machinery where it could be rid of. The clawed tip trailed current and sparked as it disconnected from the port. He just stood for a moment in contemplation. The ghost sensations of clawed servos against his plating caused his internal temperature to spike, and a dizziness to take hold in his processor. His fuel tanks flipped in a way that unsettled him, but it was not from sickness. He shook his helm and put a servo to his forehelm. Everything had happened too fast.

Megatron Megatron Megatron… _why _? His leader had always been there to oversee and act as the guiding force for the Decepticons. Had always been the force that had been his initial inspiration to take control of the old life they had pursued side by side. The uprising had happened with them at the pinnacle, and now…well, nothing seemed to make an iota of sense anymore. The warlord had driven him to work harder, press on, to continue silently and obligingly, but not without a say. He had never questioned the motives of Megatron. Yet, in the shutter of an optic it was all torn away. Whatever was his dignity now? Oh, yes, whatever pieces of it that had existed fallen away with the demise of a mech he had trusted, that he sacrificed and gave everything for…and Starscream recognized what he was without Megatron.__

What even was he now?

What in the Pit was he supposed to do? For Primus sakes, even tracing back to his role in the gladiatorial pits of Kaon, he had never felt such complete and utter anxiety in his entire existence. He might have been a cold, unapproachable shell of a mech on the outside, but on the inside, the assassin’s spark twisted in real _fear _. He couldn’t accept that this was the current situation. The tables had turned so drastically, and it left him disoriented thinking about how far he had fallen in these short orbital cycles without Megatron. And that seeker…he had reacted to him. No, he had given him what he wanted and more—outwardly! He knew the silver flier had been closer than he normally would have dared to press and the vocalizer against his audial had filled him with…with…__

Soundwave clenched his servos into fists.

He dragged himself from the glowing screens, from his lewd thoughts that blared through his processor with intensity that the Communication’s Officer couldn’t shake. His plating crawled with a strange combination of anticipation that left him feeling nauseous as he exited the deck and headed down the main corridor. He tried to calm his overheated systems that were reacting to the unwanted emotions that swam through him. His pedes carried him to his _old _master’s berthroom. It was surreal to him. It had to have been at least three orbital cycles. But he couldn’t, couldn’t look at this room in the same way, for the love of Primus. He requested admittance. Typed reluctantly into the panel outside the door.__

There was a distinctive ‘click’.

The door retracted and he entered, trying desperately to ignore the burning that had culminated between his legs, in his hot core, and walk like a mech of his status should. He forced his helm to attention and sauntered in, warily taking in his surroundings. He immediately caught sight of Starscream. He was seated on the plush desk chair, and leaned back to take in his very much expected guest. The seeker’s chassis shined, and Soundwave took note of the glossy finish that highlighted the points and sharp edges that wound around his leader’s defined torso. He immediately drew his gaze away, his face stinging with the embarrassment that followed. A smirk threatened to intrude the winglord’s smooth faceplates. _Soundwave. _The blue-tinted lights rippled over the spy’s plating like water and it made him more than pleasing to the optics. Starscream watched as his lieutenant took tentative steps towards him (although there was an awkward element to his stride that wasn’t characteristic of the spy). He imagined the mech would be uneasy in the dorm of their previous leader and he observed his suspicions were not far from true in the least. He could feel it the telepath’s EM field.__

“Soundwave, you poor thing, you look absolutely exhausted—come here, don’t be shy—take a seat,” the seeker beckoned to an idle chair that bordered the wall. It was the one closest to the ebony desk, enabling conversation to take place without any hindrance. Soundwave eased between the desk and the shelves that lined the walls, making sure not to knock anything out of place. There were so many objects—semi-assembled contraptions, and vials of liquids unknown to the spy. He settled into the seat stiffly and awaited Starscream’s next words. There was a ‘pop’ and then the tell-tale fizz of highgrade. Some spattered to the desk surface, and over the Air Commanders fingers. Starscream had no problem laving the liquid off of his fingers. Under his mask, Soundwave’s optics widened and a flush rose to his faceplates. His Commander pressed each digit dutifully to the surface of his dark, cobalt glossa, as though it was normal etiquette in all the customs of Cybertron. Soundwave’s vents hitched, and his interface array made itself known (even as Soundwave denied the possibility of that happening at all). He looked away from the glistening, dexterous appendage curling over the seeker’s talons, and considered the state of the transformed quarters of his former lord instead. The glasses clinked against each other as Starscream filled them. The silver mech leaned over to hand the assassin a bubbling glass of the violet liquid. Soundwave hesitated momentarily, but reached out to take it nevertheless.

Soundwave nodded his thanks. He looked down into the cylinder of swirling, fizzing liquid, and tried to ignore the way his throat tightened.

“This is some of the best highgrade Vos had to offer. I’ve been saving it, as you can imagine I wouldn’t go wasting it, the rarity it is,” the seeker spoke, setting the bottle down, and swirling his own drink before sipping at it. Soundwave considered that the jet’s words might as well have been sarcasm. Starscream cared little for him, and he less for the seeker. It only served to confuse him. Starscream had saved highgrade from before the war (which meant that there was more somewhere, being kept from the Decepticon army). “It brings back fond memories…” Starscream hummed contemplatively as he ran than dexterous glossa over his dermas.

Soundwave nodded, and shifted in his seat, glancing down at the cup, and wondering what he would say to that. He knew of Vos, but…but what of it? Starscream’s origins were in Vos…

The realization that Starscream was attempting to make small talk with him had him nearly choking on air. He balked at the idea. Heat shot up his spinal strut, and he suddenly felt cornered. A throb began behind his panels, focused particularly lower where his valve was situated. It fluctuated around nothing, recognizing that there was potential for more than talk. Soundwave sputtered internally, trying desperately to configure his voice components. He didn’t have recordings adequate enough for this sort of thing…he hadn’t use his voice alone in centuries, only a select few times in special occasions in Megatron’s presence and the other times were significant enough for its use. He emitted static.

His voice eventually pierced the air, after a considerable amount of fumbling. “Vos…unique city: Soundwave has heard,” his vocalizer fretted halfway through his comment. “Immense and s-spectacular as…claimed to have been. Soundwave: has never seen another city that compares.” His vocals were severely rusty from lack of use. They didn’t receive much attention. He had never really relied on them, for reasons that were significant, but now unimportant. Neither had he really ever relied on his social skills. He had been a gladiator, after all; there had simply been no need.

The seeker’s optics widened a fraction. His wings tilted forward in interest. He could have sworn…he needed to know for certain. He continued to speak to his once presumed silent second.

“Well, of course I would think so—it is where I was sparked, after all.” Starscream purred. “What are your connections to Vos, Soundwave? Or do you have any? I don’t recall your kind significantly contributing to the population of my city…or anywhere really. You are one of a kind, aren’t you?” He took another sip of highgrade, then awaited a response. There was a series of clicks emitted from the telepath’s vocalizer before he could speak again. 

“Soundwave…was sent to scour area for purposes pertaining to: collecting supporters for the Decepticon cause,” he answered Starscream, keen to leave out certain details that might break the unsteady peace of the moment. Soundwave shifted in the soft, plush metal of the seat. “Soundwave’s creators were from eastern Vos…not central. Soundwave never had the chance to experience Vos: before the war began. Research and archives: are heavily relied upon.”

There was a pause from the Commander. “I see,” Starscream mulled over the provided response, more focused on the fact the spy was actually speaking to him using a vocalizer that he had never heard. He never realized Soundwave even had a genuine vocalizer (with the recordings speaking for the mech whenever he had conversed with the telepath in the past), and until now, he hadn’t ever really put thoughts towards it. There were nanokliks of breaks in between words, but it was to be expected. Soundwave was a perpetually silent mech. When had he ever spoken in the past? He had never heard the assassin mech speak a word with this strangely broken, yet rhythmic voice. Starscream pondered over if the scrap heap downstairs had ever heard the mesmerizing vocals of his faithful third. It didn’t really matter—not now. Not when he had the mech here, at his mercy. He ogled the way Soundwave had begun to fidget in the seat in the absence of a response.

Soundwave quickly became increasingly uncomfortable. His reclusive behaviors slunk up and bit him in the aft as he feared he had done something to incite the seeker’s displeasure. He was out of his element. The drink felt heavy in his servo. He wondered if the Commander thought his resistance to consume the treasured Vosian beverage inconsiderate. He debated internally if he had brought the past up too soon? He balked at the thought of revealing his face to his new leader when he did take a sip of the drink. It was the only thing he had solely to himself anymore. It overwhelmed him, the lack of control, and the overwhelming disappearance of his reticence in front of Starscream. Heat flushed thickly through his neck cables and crept into his faceplates. He strongly considered retracting half of his visor. It would only be polite—the seeker had invited him (no, ordered him to sit and drink highgrade with him). What difference did it make?

Even if it was only a form of trickery to get beneath Soundwave’s plating, there was nothing else to do in this situation. If he refused, it might be taken as a sign of weakness, and he had done enough of that in the past few orns. The spy reached up to pluck at the latches to his mask, all the while watching those intense red optics that definitely did not turn his insides to mush. His digits did not quiver as he plucked at them. They were tightly hooked, for good reason. He felt the seeker’s EM field fluctuate in curiosity. There was a ‘snick’ as the mask loosed up slightly, and forfeited the filtered air from inside to the outside atmosphere. He lifted it just enough to allow his dermas room to make contact with the glass. He could have sworn the cylinder shook in his servo, but hoped it was only the Primus fragging heat getting the best of his CPU.

Starscream roved his optics over the small glimpse of dove grey facial plating revealed. The seeker eyed those dermas…soft, plush dermas that formed over the edge of the cylinder of energon with such perfect eloquence, he couldn’t help but be utterly fixated on them. The liquid glistened like small crystalline fragments upon their smooth surface. Highgrade dribbled down light chin plating, and over hairline scars that wound down into the chin cover. A servo came to catch the spilt highgrade before it descended further, and dentae bit into the bottom derma after all was said and done. Alright, that did it. Starscream fought his fans and feigned disinterest, although the lust that had consumed the flier’s plating earlier came back in an instant.

“I-inquiry, Commander?” Soundwave’s vocals were clearer without the mask, but still had mechanical undertones to them. The Communication’s Officer picked up on the heat imbedded within the seeker’s EM field and nearly froze up. He definitely had NOT been mistaken earlier. He felt the pull in his abdomen respond, the heat returning full force, insistent, and pulsating. The servo that wasn’t occupied holding his highgrade clutched the edge of the seat. His own systems reacted to the stimulus regardless if he wanted them to or not. He couldn’t pull away from the sickeningly heady and tempting feeling of Starscream’s evident arousal. It was heavy in the air, and pronounced in his olfactory sensors. Soundwave’s processor nearly stalled as the feeling of it intoxicated his processor in the best kind of way. He felt dizzy.

_No. _No way. He couldn’t do, wouldn’t…it was against everything his past was rooted in and his future had begun to sprout into (if his own coding hadn’t decided now was the time to betray him). It was treason in the most blatant form. Treason to…an offline mech…maybe permanently…__

No, he couldn’t afford to think like that! This wasn’t him—no, it was his aching, molten core speaking for him, the insatiable fire that glowed like embers deep within his belly, aching for him to cave and satisfy it.

“You have been hiding your face away, Soundwave? Why? You’re no less decent than any other mech I’ve seen.” _No _, Starscream’s processor provided, _it’s almost sinful to call those dermas only ‘decent’…how about kissable _? Plump and Primus-fragging-delectable, just asking to be nipped, explored, worshipped by him. He refocused his CPU. “How long were you planning to keep such an _important _fact from your lord? I think as your leader, I should know such a defining factor…” the seeker drawled, but there was no anger in his voice. There was a husky, rumbling quality to it. The flier downed and then set down his drink and stood. His wings splayed, fanned out to his sides and angled upward.______

The nerve?! As if the spy had any control in this situation in the first place, he completely lost whatever amount he might have retained as the drink in Soundwave’s servo doused his chassis in highgrade. The assassin watched in mortification as the cylinder rolled past Starscream’s pede, clunking into the nearest shelf. Soundwave’s optics widened under his mask. The liquid dribbled off of his armor and onto the plush chair, onto the floor—it was a mess to behold, and behold it the Air Commander did, with those starved garnet optics that had a wicked sparkle to them. That was the final straw—Soundwave wanted to fold up on himself and hide for eternity; he envied Lazerbeak right now, perched in her loft in the safety of his own quarters. She was in repair from an accident a few solar cycles back and therefore was in deep recharge, waiting for internal healing to catch up with her recalibrating systems. Soundwave didn’t like the searing sensation that assaulted his face plates as the Commander sauntered over to him. His helm dropped away from Starscream, whose expression reflected exactly what he thought of his lieutenant’s predicament. Soundwave looked anywhere but the one responsible for demise of his stoic mentality, the squandering of normalcy, and wondered why it had to -be him to be here, hot and wanting (or needing, rather). He would not succumb to it—this was preposterous!

Starscream tasted the absolute humiliation that tainted the assassin’s field. There was a part of him that would have reveled in the fact that he had one-upped the telepath—but something rubbed him the wrong way as Soundwave turned his helm away. His spark fluctuated at the suddenness of the alteration in Soundwave’s demeanor. His servos itched to touch the dark metal, to trace every purple, glowing stream of biolights and seam. He would tread carefully…well, as carefully as a mech could with that aphrodisiac of a scent soaking his sensors.

After all, when had Soundwave experienced close contact? He was solitary, work-oriented, and generally kept himself, tucked away from the rest of the crew on board the Nemesis. Starscream could change that. It could be for the better. He grabbed a towel from a shelf and continued his on his path towards Soundwave, keeping his wings lower to possibly give the spy a sense that he wasn’t out to undermine him.

The seeker’s wing tips twitched in anticipation as he approached, and reached out to take one of the assassin’s servos. Soundwave instantly pressed back into the cushions of the chair, as though wary the seeker would wrench his very spark from his being. This close—this was in no way acceptable. The burn in his lower stomach kindled into a blossoming _want _, and the spy cursed Primus and Unicron and all other entities worth defiling for the sake of it. It gave him no more liberty as his leader as he pressed in on his space. The spy’s fans clicked on, and Soundwave was up and out in a nanoklick—never had he moved so quickly in his entire existence. He shot to the other side of the room, his stance defensive. A baritone growl rumbled deep within his chest, morphing into something close to a strangled purr halfway through. Starscream observed the Communications Officer’s behavior with curiosity, considering his temperature spiked at the concept of giving chase to Soundwave’s retreat.__

“Soundwave?” The seeker inquired, his wings flared once more. “What the Pit is your malfunction?!” Starscream demanded, noting the way his deputy’s lips pulled up in something similar to a snarl. Soundwave’s silver dentae glinted in the low lighting. Starscream threw his own servos in the air, letting the towel loose—he had only wanted to help the prudish spy out (in more ways than one, but his offer was a genuine one). The Air Commander’s wings went ramrod straight, angling upward on his back, gleaming silver points of wings, signaling his growing interest and highgrade inspired sensitivity to Soundwave’s chaotic EM field. _I am the best _, they said. The optimal pick, battle-ready…or frag ready, depending on the particular circumstance…Optic to optic, the two mechs stood, restless energy swimming in the enclosed space. Soundwave bristled. Starscream felt the urge to move closer, feeding on the fire in his belly, even though the smallest movement made his deputy tense.__

“Starscream wants Soundwave here for what reason exactly?” Soundwave bit out, his vocalizer increasingly strained. Starscream quirked an optic ridge and looked past the intoxicating scent that his subordinate gave off. He recognized the scent, though it was not exactly as he remembered it in his past. _It must have gotten much sweeter _, he thought, because all he saw was Soundwave, who as of now, never looked better. He clutched his claws into fists and focused on the glossy mask concealing mystery optics that the flier desired to drink in.__

“I am not out to mock you, Soundwave—I merely wanted to discuss your demeanor,” the seeker knelt down, without breaking optic contact, and retrieved the cylinder from the floor. He set it on the desk surface and turned his focus back to his extremely uneasy and slightly hostile guest. “Tell me what I did wrong and we can resume just that…your comfort is my priority, Soundwave, and I can tell you are uneasy. Let us handle this like civil mechs.”

Soundwave shook his helm. “Negative, Lord Starscream…” the spy bit out, caring less that he had just denied the wishes of his commander and more that he was trembling with need. _Fragging heat… _“Get to the point. Handling this: should be simple enough. Discussion: taking stellar cycles. Soundwave: should be departing.”__

“Hold on—what? Soundwave…” Starscream sighed, exasperated, and for once not wholly concerned that he was not earning subservience that he deserved. It was more primitive than that. Starscream itched to tackle the reluctant assassin mech and show him that he could quell a heat cycle better than any. _Soundwave, you dolt, do you or don’t you want help? _Starscream took a few steps forward, not giving Soundwave’s throaty growl any mind. “I might be tied up in my own agenda, Soundwave, but I’m not that oblivious…when did you start it?”__

Soundwave balked then. “Come again?”

“Your fragging heat…when did it come about?” Heat, the Air Commander decided, was not the fitting definition for what Soundwave was giving off—this was a lust-inducing toxin that lured Starscream in. This put seeker heat cycles to shame, and that was saying something. “Don’t give me that look, it’s been a sauna in here since I welcomed you in.”

He was found out. Soundwave didn’t respond immediately. He sized up the flier, and debated his chances of exiting the room…but that would leave his needs unsatisfied, and ultimately set him up for failure. He wouldn’t be able to focus, wouldn’t be able to work. Earlier, it seemed more manageable, but now…Soundwave swallowed thickly. Now his CPU wandered towards the thought of using his commander to satisfy it. Because that’s all it would be! It wouldn’t be anything significant—just a wildly satiating, necessary means to quieting the symptoms that would only get worse as the megacycles passed by. Begrudgingly the spy accepted the rationality of that thought. He weighed his options…and conceded to the desire that flooded his CPU.

“…six megacycles ago.” The spy responded to the inquiry.

“How’s that feeling?” Starscream worked hard to suppress a smirk.

“How does Starscream: think it feels?” Soundwave snapped back, clearly not amused.

Starscream scoffed. “Don’t know. Never had one before. Why don’t you give me a taste, and maybe I could lessen the load, hmm?” The seeker leered. When the assassin didn’t respond, he huffed. “In all honesty, mech, what do you have to lose? You like your work more than any of us on this Primus forsaken ship, it’ll give you a chance to get back to it sooner than later.”

Good question…and point taken…although there was the notion that he would be betraying the mech who stood by him for thousands of stellar cycles…did he really want to suffer now and regret not taking up the offer? Even if it was with his new leader who he despised—yet, who looked perfectly put together and convincingly…well, qualified for the task. Heat cycles were the Pit, and he could name an expansive number of reasons why he didn’t want to suffer through one alone. In a few long, certain strides, he stood shoulder to shoulder with Starscream. The seeker’s optics darkened to a warm burgundy.

“Starscream should not want to know: what heat feels like…” Soundwave reached out almost tentatively, and scraped his digits over the Air Commander’s intricate chest armor, his digits catching on the points. It was healthy, sturdy armor that wound into thick shoulder guards and finely wired wings that contributed to Starscream’s definite height advantage. “But…he will know soon, regardless…” Soundwave rumbled low in his chassis, and shoved Starscream back with a considerable amount of force. Starscream shuttered his optics. _Did he just—? _Soundwave slunk forward and shoved him again, harder this time, and rasped out a feral, yet enticingly needy sound. Starscream answered the lean assassin with a throaty growl and stepped forward, undeterred by the taunting jabs. This close, Soundwave’s field was an inferno, and he’d offline before holding himself back from delving right in. This was a side of the spy he had yet to experience.__

“Give it to me then—what’s the holdup?” Starscream smirked, and wasn’t surprised to feel Soundwave’s deft servo back at his chest, but this time instead of shoving him, they were tugging him forward, so that their chassis were flush against one another. He was so close, he could feel the assassin’s hot ventilations against his face and chest. Starscream lifted his fingers to pull at the latches to the mask and get to it already, but found his servo caught midway in sharp ebony digits. Annoyance flitted through his processor.

“Not a chance,” the telepath chided, tightening his grip on the seeker’s servo. Clearly the winglord had overstepped a boundary, “Mask: stays on.” Soundwave demanded with no hesitation. Starscream could have rolled his optics, but refrained as he felt slender digits ghosting over the sensor rich plates of his abdomen, daring to dance lower.

“Fine.” The Air Commander bit out, and moved in for the kill. He tilted his helm to the side, nosed his way obtrusively into the space where the mask did not cover, forcing his dermas to his lieutenant’s. The spy’s dermas were soft at first, as he hadn’t expected the sudden contact, but hardened to return the kiss with ferocity. Soundwave tensed, and dug his digits into his commander’s plating. The molten heat that was his insides shifted, unsatisfied and hungry for the offering…the spy pressed in the contact, forcing his pelvic plating to grind against the seeker’s. Starscream hummed his approval, and licked at the sweet mouth that moved against his, reveling in the glossa that pressed against his own. He caught an obsidian thigh and drew it up, thrusting his hips forward into the burning interface panel. “Mmm, now that’s more like it…”

No more Vosian highgrade. EVER. Soundwave’s CPU went through an extensive list of reasons why he should simply succumb and open his legs to this mech, and none of them should have sounded rational in the least. The telepath’s core temperature started to climb to heights he had not experienced since the Pits of Kaon. Through his mask, he could read those crimson optics like a data pad, and where there was authority usually was now filled with raw, unbridled _lust _. There were servos clutching his thigh plating, squeezing the pliable metal—how had they gotten there? Did it really matter anymore? They were warm and scratched insistently against his armor, massaging. The seeker nuzzled his helm into the telepath’s neck wiring and sucked. Hard. He licked and mouthed the sensors that were imbedded deeply in between them. Electricity flitted, tickling against the winglord’s glossa, urging him to dig the appendage further between the intertwined cables. A gasp left Soundwave and his entire frame quaked in reaction. Starscream chuckled and breathed heavily against the neck cabling.__

“That’s it,” he hummed and bit at Soundwave’s jaw. He lapped along the chestplates that glistened with slowly drying highgrade. He paid careful attention to the dock-area meant for the little flier cassette and drowned in the moans that started gradually filtering from his obstinate lieutenant. He worked his glossa in between hairline-tight seams and across abdominal plating that shivered and twitched delightfully. He could detect remnants of cleanser from the wash racks as well as the strong burn of Vos energon as he licked and sucked. A servo hesitantly brushed against his cheek plating and he hummed throatily in response. The heat that radiated from in front of him could be felt clearly against his faceplates. The scent that permeated the air was deliciously sensual, and up close made his CPU sing. He trailed his servo in between dark and dampened thighs, and used the other against trembling spinal connectors to steady Soundwave.

Soundwave wanted to keep himself in check, he really did, but he also wanted to be fragged senseless…no, he wouldn’t think about who the berth previously belonged to. No, he wouldn’t think at all. This was not the Starscream he had known…the old Starscream wouldn’t have laved his glossa over every inch of his plating, worshipping every seam in his possession as though he were sparked for that sole purpose. It must have been a cruel joke, humiliating mockery in order to force him to submit, but frag it felt divine. His thoughts reflected doubt momentarily before a servo came to rest over his interface array. It palmed over the sensitive, heated metal with care, pressing, stroking tantalizingly close to the dampening edges. The seeker leaned into the assassin’s sleek abdomen, pressing his cheek into the warm metal there. How had he ever been such an oblivious fool? The plating trembled, and he caved to whatever his deputy wanted, and what the heat pulled him to desire it likewise.

“Just feel…” Starscream said huskily, and pushed back against Soundwave’s hips until the backs of his calves clunked against the end of his berth. “Have no doubts I will treat you well,” the palm of his servo pressed more insistently against the interface panel, grinding down harder into the sensitive covering. Lubricant seeped out of the side seams, meeting the servo that influenced its excess. Soundwave sighed. He felt the urge to move his hips into the hot palm. Pressure was quickly culminating under the panel. Soundwave’s vents hitched as the seeker moved to continue his oral exploration, focusing now exclusively on his inner thigh. The commander felt the damp, static-heat against his glossa and marveled in it. If Soundwave’s fans had been on for a while, there was no mistaking them now. They whirred with the pleasure that was being dealt dutifully to his frame. And oh did it feel equisite…

“Yes…L-Lord Starscream,” he choked out through a strained vocalizer (loathing himself for the way he had let that title slip). He caressed the seeker’s sharp jaw, trailing his pointed digits carefully over the outcroppings of Starscream’s helm, and focusing on the most prominent rouge protrusion in front. He thumbed it delicately, transitioning from there to the shoulder plating that had previously caught his optic, lost at what to do with his servos at the moment. He moved to focus his servos over the elegant wings that he knew from experience were extremely sensitive. He was familiar enough with seeker builds to know how caress, where to press; he fondled the wings as gently as his shaking servos would allow. He was rewarded with a hum from below and wings that pressed right back into his servos. An inkling of a smile pulled at Soundwaves dermas. The assassin lavished the flier’s wings in the most attention he could offer with the twitch of his abdominal plating, and the hot mouth so close to his nether regions at the forefront of his mind. Primus…the seeker’s breath was oh so hot against his interface panels. 

Lubricant continued seeping out from the edges of the panel that sealed off the spy’s most intimate areas. The heat made sure that the fluid was thin enough to drip through the interface panel’s seams, He felt it drip down the insides of his thighs. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He was tempted to quell the heat that radiated from beneath the panels on his own at this rate. It was overwhelming. Starscream scratched lightly over it and Soundwave’s frame shook. The spy’s servos tightened on his wings.

He looked up into the flushed lower faceplates of Soundwave, who had since bit his lower derma in order to retain some hold over his self-control. Starscream could tell that behind that one-way mask, Soundwave was staring him down, waiting for him to do something. Anything. Starscream traced a digit through the innermost moist seams. A hiss escaped the assassin mech as he did so. The pressure on his wing increased as well, but he didn’t give a frag at the moment that it was on the verge of pain. The seeker eyed his deputy with hunger.

“Open for me.” Starscream’s voice was deep with desire. The scent, the warmth, and Soundwave…what a privilege to have Soundwave to himself. The ‘click’ of the retracting panel was loud in the room. The commander carefully slipped a servo into uncharted territory. His digits were met with slick, glorious heat. Thick and unexpectedly plump lips, paired with the heat made the valve swell larger, made it wetter…

A series of high-pitched clicks met the air as the seeker pushed a singular digit painstakingly into the drenched, taut valve. He observed as it clenched hard around his singular digit. Soundwave was incredibly tight. It served to quell Starscream’s curiosity pertaining to the spy’s past lovers (for now), not that he had suspected that Soundwave got around. Soundwave’s thighs parted further to allow for more of the seeker’s touch. He wanted Starscream nearer.

“You like that, Soundwave? You’re so _hot _down here.” Starscream hummed in gratification. It stroked his ego in so many ways seeing the mech who usually didn’t acknowledge his existence now so desperate for him. He moved down further and guided a shining black leg to drape over one of his shoulder plates, between his wing and his neck. The valve of the telepath matched his dark plating. He glanced up before leaning down and dragging his glossa slowly up and over the engorged mesh. It quivered and caused the spy to cycle air more quickly. “If this is early on in your cycle, I can’t imagine what is to come…” Starscream licked his dermas. “Mhmm, taste fragging good.” Soundwave’s frame jerked, and a high-pitched trill left his vocalizer as Starscream bent back down. It sent chills up and down the seeker’s spinal struts.__

He lapped dutifully at the folds momentarily, contemplatively, before thrusting his entire glossa into the swollen passage. It contracted like a vice as he licked and sucked forcefully on the mesh. The servos that had been on his wings stroking now held on for dear life, careless in the harshness of their grip. Starscream glanced up to see the beauty of a mech with his helm thrown back, gasping as he thoroughly indulged in devouring his valve. Starscream’s spike pressed desperately against his own interface panel. He would definitely find out how much patience he really had, watching the telepath writhe under his ministrations. Soundwave hips canted into his commander’s dermas, desperate for more, more of that sweet sensation that sent his sensornet aflame. Starscream gave it to him. Between the gasps and whines that slipped from Soundwave’s dermas, there were the moans of enjoyment that echoed from the seeker who had found that his own arousal had spiked in response. He pulled his mouth away from the plump valve, much to Soundwave’s evident disappointment. The scowl that marred the Communication’s Officer’s dermas mirrored his irritation. He was genuinely confused and miffed. He had been so close…

“Shhh, easy… _easy _,” Starscream soothed as he worked three long digits into the molten, quickly accommodating valve. He pressed into the soft heat, caressing the inner walls with defined pulling motions that tugged at the velvety insides. The steadily pooling lubricant allowed his digits to moved unhindered, making it so that he could stretch his deputy painlessly. The spy gasped. Starscream moved up Soundwave’s body, pressing him into the berth, and connected their dermas once more. Soundwave sighed his immediate approval and kissed back fervently. Starscream tasted good, the spy admitted, even if he would regret that thought come the morning. The hot mouth against his caused his spark to swirl in its casing, and his EM field to project the need that had been closed out for too long. He wanted everything that the winglord could deliver. His most primitive instincts screamed out for it. He had never felt such a strong pull for something he had long ago dismissed as all but useless. He was fragged in the processor if this wasn’t necessary. Soundwave’s valve clamped hard on the intruding digits, pulling them in further. The seeker rumbled with approval.__

This was his mech now—his loyal telepath.

“I do believe I owe you for more wrongs than I can list, Soundwave…my lieutenant,” he said as he wrapped the assassin’s legs around his waist and hoisted him further up the bed until Soundwave’s helm came down on…soft. His momentary confusion ended in a purr as he embraced the comforts of the massive berth, and he allowed his thighs to fall open as the tension left them. Soundwave was light—how he was ever a gladiator, Starscream would never know. The spy’s digits hadn’t released his plating as he worked to ease him into the berth. Soundwave held onto the seeker as if he would disappear any nanoclick. “Let me do you a favor, for once.” The enthusiasm was motivation enough for Starscream to deliver due attention to the supine mech below.

“Soundwave requesting…” the assassin started as he panted, petting the chest plating of the seeker, and caressing the vents imbedded in the sturdy, silver sides. He felt the need to pull the seeker close and hold him there. To never let go of those wings that were hitched upon the seeker’s back in such a perfectly primal display. Starscream leaned into Soundwave and pushed his own panel against the bared interface array of the other, gathering sticky kisses from the sopping valve of his berth partner. The spy moaned as his naked valve was met with the hot panel concealing exactly what he needed to satiate his lust. Soundwave wanted to feel the shift and pulse of his commander’s spark beneath those thick, intricate chest plates, feel another thrust from the delightfully hot panel that pressed flush against his aching valve.

“I want to hear you,” the Lord of the Decepticons purred as he released the pressure that prodded against his interface paneling. The ‘click’ of his retracting panel was pure relief. “Don’t stop talking now.” His spike emerged from its housing, hot and turgid against the air of his quarters. It came to rest against Soundwave’s inner thigh, and Starscream watched the assassin vent heavily in response. Soundwave dipped his helm, as if trying to get a peek. He ran a servo tentatively down the seeker’s abdomen and felt the long spike which nudged against him. It was hot, and pulsed against his servo.

“Soundwave desires…Lord Starscream **inside** him,” the assassin mech said through unsteady vocals. Starscream could feel the throbbing heat of the valve against the sensitive underside of his spike. Primus help him…he would not leave his deputy wanting—it was cruel, after all. He moved to nip at Soundwave’s collar plating before aligning his spike with the opening of the telepath’s valve.

“Who am I to deny you?” The winglord whispered. He let the heat swarm the overly sensitized metal before nudging the head in. There was resistance right away, but Soundwave didn’t tense up or give him any sign he was experiencing pain, so he continued. Starscream did give his word to please Soundwave as a sort of repentance for his past wrongs, so he was going to do his best to keep it. He pushed slowly and carefully into the barely accommodating sleeve of the valve, which rippled around the intruding spike. Soundwave whined ecstatically and gripped his leader’s plating. It was a beautiful burn—he wanted this.

Yes, Soundwave pressed his helm back into the pillows, oh frag yes. He could feel every movement of the seeker within him and it was divine. Starscream couldn’t help the groan that left his dermas as his spike was clenched by the narrow valve. It gripped him in such wonderful ways. It was a very snug fit for the seeker and it took a good amount self-control to seat himself gradually into the twitching and squirming con under him. He felt when he skewered far enough into the valve that he struck the swollen cluster of ceiling nodes, and was assured by the sudden tension that gripped the assassin’s frame. Soundwave vented shakily at the pleasure that came from that simple action.

“Haaaah Ahh…” the Communication’s Officer cried out and clenched his thighs more tightly around the flier’s waste. Soundwave couldn’t help himself—he was so overwhelmed and…and he just wanted to touch, to feel more and more of the damp chassis armor right in front of his mask…he started to move under Starscream and reveled in the thick, filling spike that started to rub against his inflamed nodes. He reached his servos around to play with the seeker’s equally intricate spinal plating, and chirred when Starscream sighed when the spy’s digits wound into sensor laden seams.

Starscream languidly rolled his hips, while still seated deep within the other mech. Soundwave all but convulsed under him as he did, the pleasure coursing up his spinal struts, through his veins and over sensitized wiring. The Air Commander leaned in to swallow every rapturous sound and cry that came from those grey dermas. He created a controlled quick-thrust-inward, and withdraw slowly rhythm that had begun to affect him as well. He ravished his deputy’s energon darkened lips and focused on the sharp, then long thrusts that had the one below him raking his digits down his spine roughly. Soundwave was lost to the torrents of sensation brought upon him by the spike moving in and out of him. All of Soundwave, Starscream decided, was worth his time. His spike sought a certain elusive cluster of nodes in that valve with determination, and he wouldn’t slow until he had the telepath screaming his release. A sharp groan filtered into a whine, and it caught the leader of the Cons off guard. He paused his thrusts to look down at Soundwave.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked with real concern, venting hard. Coolant dripped from his forehelm, and pattered to the reflective mask’s surface under him. He leaned down and kissed the corner of the telepath’s mouth (not considering repercussions when Soundwave tensed in response) and searched imploringly for a sign he had caused his lieutenant pain. This was supposed to be a moment of…well, some kind of release combined solace for his Communications Officer. Soundwave was taken aback by the genuine tone that graced the seeker’s vocals, and that kiss that left a ghost sensation on his lower faceplates. _That would not do _, the spy decided, _because this was a no-thinking zone…it is just Starscream’s heightened arousal. Nothing more _. He pulled his leader down against him and felt the inner workings of his valve fluctuate over the spike within. Starscream gasped at both the abruptness of the pull and the mind numbing sensations brought upon by the valve wrapped snuggly around him. The seeker supposed his should have expected it. Soundwave rumbled deep within his chest, and clicked inquisitively, before making his opinion on the matter clear.____

“Negative: Starscream stopped moving, why? Soundwave wants more…much more: in fact,” He caught the angular jaw of his commander between his dentae in a sharp nip, and leaned back, thighs pressing into the seeker’s sides. The spy’s fans illustrated his willingness to continue, and Soundwave had no trepidations using other ways to convince the winglord he was fine. He implemented a softer nip to Starscream’s throat cables. He wouldn’t voice his appreciation for the seeker’s concern over his own comfort, although it was there somewhere behind the barrier his denial constructed. The spy canted his hips so that Starscream’s spike delved deeper into his valve once more, clutched seeker’s shoulder plating and moaned in unadulterated pleasure. Needles to say, Starscream got the message.

He plowed into the other with acute accuracy and focused his force into making his entry smooth. His long spike hit end of the valve and it sent Soundwave vocalizing his enjoyment in bursts of static. Soundwave threw his helm back against the plush, mesh pillows in bliss. The seeker rolled his hips with fluidity that had to have been inborn, and it caressed the over-sensitized valve nodes with an expertise that caused the feeling in Soundwave’s thighs to dull until they went numb. The telepath was beside himself with ecstasy as neglected nodes were caressed over and over again.

“There l-lord…Hah..hnnnnnn… **YES** …yes: y-yes Starscream!” The mechanical voice spiked in frequency with each inward thrust from the flier. He held his leader to his chassis and cycled rushed intakes. The heat that had earlier resided in his lower abdomen had moved down considerably and now made Soundwave feel as though he was about to burst. He chanted and moaned his approval as the seeker picked up his pace considerably and approached the verge of shattering the continuity of their interfacing. They were mutually coated in coolant and equally searching for relief that rested just out of reach.

“Star-Starsream…hnn…Star…!” Soundwave held on as his abdominal plating contracted.

When the moment did tip into the next level of intensity, Soundwave wailed out his overload. White stained his vision as his valve cycled down on the seeker’s spike, which still pressed insistently inside him. Soundwave felt the pull of the spike in his valve acutely as he trembled and jerked from the tenderness of the engorged mesh. Starscream leaned his own faceplates into his officer’s neck as he moved in and out of the now much tighter passage. He felt his own overload teetering right on the edge. Just a few…more…thrusts—the flier growled loudly into the room and panted as transfluid emptied copiously into the now more than drenched valve. Soundwave whined as the hot fluids slicked the inside of his valve and searched for the energy to hold the flier there. It felt as though they fitted perfectly in this position, and Soundwave was insistent on keeping the satisfaction in his interface array alive.

“ _Mmm _, Soundwave…yes, you’re good…so good…that’s it…” Starscream’s optics were bright, crimson embers in the low light of the berthroom, and Soundwave lost himself in them. The telepath’s servos shook as the seeker moved to pull himself from the soaked point between his hips, and moaned in disappointment. He didn’t want to relinquish the feeling of being filled (however wrong it was, considering who had had just fragged). Starscream moved off of his lieutenant, tucking his softening equipment away. His optics roved over the supine frame before laying down next to the spy and pulling him onto his chassis. Frag personal space—Soundwave would warm to the culture of interfacing habits, and it just seemed right. The seeker’s spark fluctuated in its casing (and he ignored it, because sparks had their own agendas), and something within him felt it was right to feel the movement of Soundwave’s restless spark energy in turn. The dark plated mech was sapped of energy and the only sounds that were emitted from his stressed vocalizer were soft whirs of contentment and exhaustion. He was sprawled on top of the seeker and he felt too drained to contemplate the wrongness of a situation that felt so right in the moment.__

__

Starscream smiled.

The slagger downstairs wouldn’t have known what to think if he saw his previously most fiercely loyal officer, dressed in the ornery winglord’s fluids and marked by his scent. Soundwave wouldn’t have been able to walk if he had wanted to…But that didn’t matter now. No, what mattered was the hum of the other’s vents steadily cycling and the fact that his optics were shut safely under his mask.


	2. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Morning after*  
> 

Soundwave’s optics shot open to the Command Center. It was the day of a battle; the systems were high up and running, and tension rested over the inhabitants of the ship, as it always did before an event like this…although something about it made his plating crawl. There was something off…possibly the way everything appeared…less than pristine? The edges of his vision seemed blurred. The telepath couldn’t place it. He felt as if he were being dragged into action as the console lit up, and alerted him to multiple errors. They had no significance to the battle…and speaking of the said battle, when had it started? Wasn’t he supposed to be out there, actively contributing to bringing down the enemy?

Apparently not, because he stared right into the slew of errors that flitted across the screen too fast for even the Communications Officer to discern.

/Failed in noticing threats posed to Leader/

/Missed opportunity to better for Decepticons by bringing down Autobot systems when they were most vulnerable/

/Was easily manipulated to turn a blind optic to details that were critical to battle period/

/Didn’t try hard enough to salvage what was left of Megatron/

Soundwave’s optics widened behind his mask as he watched all of the accusations flow, all directed at him. His vents stuttered.

/Interfaced with new, unofficial leader/

/Betrayed Megatron/

Soundwave withdrew his tentacle from the system port, and stepped back from the machine dousing his already guilty conscience with a slew of sticky sins that wouldn’t detach. The spy grew angry at the ship’s systems that were surely mocking him. He postured at the never-ending list of wrongs that were supposedly his, but it did nothing to stop the barrage of information. He watched, helpless to do anything, as he was reminded of the viscous fluid that coated his most intimate parts. His optics widened behind his mask. _What?! Interface array: why is it exposed? What is this?! _His spike casing remained shut, but the outline of his valve was prominent even in the dim lighting of the main deck. He felt optics on him, loud and accusing in their stares, blaming him for his part in opening himself up to a leader that was not one that they had followed for so long. The most prominent made him wilt, as he had felt that demanding presence countless times…he had shared in it, bent to its will, and in the past had his own part in contributing to its growth and flourishing.__

“Soundwave.” The baritone voice demanded, sending unwanted chills down the spy’s spinal struts. He couldn’t turn around and face his old friend, his true leader this way, but he was not one for cowardice in any form. Soundwave turned and met the garnet optics of Megatron, knowing that even having closed his panels wouldn’t help save his dignity in this situation. They spoke measures that simple words could not convey, and Soundwave felt them lance across his spark. Shame. Disappointment. Across the room over towards the wall, a certain, all-to-familiar seeker stood with his arms crossed across his gleaming chassis, a sycophantic smile worn on his dermas. Soundwave took in the high wings, perked up in what looked like the stature he took up when…the spy dipped his helm in shame. He obtained no leverage now. His words would be turned into a piteous attempt to prove the winglord wrong, and dig himself a deeper grave. The transfluid mingled with his own lubricant was cold now in the open air of the Command Center, and even more so under the scrutiny of Lord Megatron. What could he say?

“Soundwave…experienced first heat cycle, since war began, Lord Megatron…” his vocals let loose without his permission. The silver warlord stiffened, then laughed darkly. It was a spear through the telepath’s thinning dignity, and he nearly buckled in his stance at the dry sound alone.

“And that is it, Soundwave? You whore yourself out to Starscream of all mechs? After all this time I thought I knew you, it was really all a lie. Where is your pride now that you stand before me, wreaking of his scent and still hot from interface, too careless even to cover yourself afterwards. _Disgusting_.” Soundwave did flinch then, as the backlash of Megatron’s judgement struck him.

“Soundwave: sorry…w-will make up for wrongs…will f-fix this—”

“The old Soundwave was impeccable in his duties. He was my most loyal soldier, my confidant. That was the Soundwave I began this revolution with, and entrusted my life to.” Megatron eyed him coldly. “The question is, who are you? Surely you are not the mech I knew back in the pits of Kaon…”

Soundwave was lost for words. “Lord Megatron: is surely not going to t-turn back on…”

“I already have, just as you have done with me, Soundwave. Optic for an optic, as they say…I really had more faith in you than I should have harbored, and I see that now. An honest mistake, I see, was believing that you were above primal urges, hmm?” Megatron clicked his glossa and turned away from the shocked telepath. “A welcome back if I’ve ever had one. Stay out of my sight.” The warlord turned on his ped, and walked the opposite way, even as Soundwave moved forward, feeling the energon drain from his faceplates.

“No…Lord Megatron…” he walked as if being pulled by invisible wires through a sequence of steps that were not his. He trailed after like a kicked turbopup seeking approval, but was intercepted, coming face to face with an intricate silver chassis.

“Going so soon?” Starscream sneered, and took the telepath’s jaw in a rough, clawed servo. Soundwave became enraged more quickly than he could control, and reciprocated the motion, only to find his servos caught. A laugh fit for the Pit came from the seeker, who still smiled like a slagging imbecile. The spy, in his chagrin, growled out and let his anger culminate in his belly until all he saw was red. What he had done was irreversible, but he’d be fragged if the Air Commander believed he had the ability to control him. The seeker had done this. _He had known_.

“Get fragged.” Soundwave barked out, his voice hoarse with murderous intent that bubbled up under his mask in the form of coolant. The spy ground his denta together and glared at the pompous glitch staring back at him.

“Seems as though that’s already been done, sweet lieutenant—you wish to go at it again so soon?” Soundwave’s optics widened and his internals seemed to lurch at the suggestion—

Soundwave’s optics flashed open in panic and he was very prepared to lunge from the berth—his fans were choking up and beneath his mask was damp. In fact, his entire frame was slick with coolant. As if to spite him, his valve clenched in want, even after the nightmare that had just ensued. Lying next to him, Starscream dozed, completely still, wings lax. He couldn’t stay…he couldn’t…what in the Pit had he done? Soundwave looked down at his pelvic region, which was painted in interface fluids. His valve was chilled by the room, and his panel indeed had drawn back in recharge. He felt sick, but still needy, and it was causing him a great deal of distress. What was wrong with him? What happened to a simple ‘talk’ with Starscream? Soundwave realized begrudgingly that he was partially to blame for the outcome. It wasn’t that it was unsatisfactory…which made guilt eat away at him. He had wholly enjoyed being bedded by the seeker. It was inexcusable.

He slipped off of the expanse of a berth and hit the floor on silent pedes. His core throbbed once more in response to the heat that had come online again even before he had awoken himself. He passed a glance back at the Air Commander deep in recharge and headed swiftly towards the door to the hallway. Soundwave made his way to his own chambers. He was very pleasantly sore between his legs, but pushed that thought far from his CPU as he entered. His processor nagged him with streams of notifications on how his blasted heat was progressing. He felt disheveled, but did not think much of it. Lazerbeak was essentially an extension of himself, which meant she was aware of changes that happened with her host in the past evening. She whirred a welcome from her shelf perch, tucked in with soft cloths to keep her secured in place in the space of the cubby, lest she fall off in her injured state.

‘Soundwave has returned!’ she chirped through the connection. Her EM field reached out for Soundwave’s in joy. The host mech walked over to the cassette with a sense of urgency and placed a comforting servo on her wing. He felt the love-satisfaction through their carrier-cassette bond and it calmed his inner anxiety regarding Lazerbeak. He caressed her with tender strokes, careful of her strained wiring. She trilled at the attention.

‘Soundwave is in heat?’ She inquired, buzzing softly where her carrier-mech’s digits caressed. Soundwave, having never kept things from the miniature flier in the past, answered with a trite ‘affirmative’ which seemed to satisfy Lazerbeak. There were some things between them that did not need to be voiced. Lazerbeak understood her master’s tendencies, as well as his views on such matters. If he was satisfied, she was as well.

“Laserbeak: was missed by Soundwave,” Soundwave stated as he tickled and scratched lightly over the healing wing base wiring of the cassette. He felt at ease now. He could rest assured that she was for the most part physically well. The injury was healing spectacularly. Soundwave eased his servos under the cassette’s frame and lifted her to transport her across the room. He set her down on a rather blank desk space and retrieved a couple slender tools. He felt carefully along the small wing base and stopped at a noticeable ridge. He took a tool off the desk and pressed lightly to file out the abnormality. The small bot chirred as her master fine-tuned her delicate wing plates. Usually, only he was allowed to do these sort of intricate repairs on his beloved cassette.

Laserbeak searched tentatively along the connection that was shared between them. Her master’s processor had been rather preoccupied lately and his side of the connection had been flooded with anxiety—something that truly startled the flier. Her carrier was a stoic mech so it was worrying when he dropped his emotional guard. She was glad to feel that at the moment he was nearly as glad as she was to see him. She didn’t like to feel the remnants of self-doubt that happened to trickle over into her side of the connection when Soundwave became too tired, often occupied with late night shifts…or happened to hear through different, more intimate levels of their cassette-carrier bond the recordings of their recently lost leader.

Soundwave checked her main frame and her sensornet flared up at the slender digits that tickled the sensitive wiring. She chuffed into the quiet room and fidgeted slightly. Soundwave’s side of the bond hummed with protective initiative…he closed the panel on her frame and lifted the dainty cassette up to optic-level. He didn’t want to chance damaging any components; it was best to be safe. He held her close as he typed in the code to open his door. He stepped from his dimly lit quarters into the hallway.

He made his way to the medical wing of the ship. He didn’t come here often—rarely ever for himself, and really even less for his cassette. A couple drones eyed him as he passed by, one of them flaring their plating as he did so. He glanced back at the posse who found him apparently interesting enough to stare right back at him, projecting curious EM fields. They radiated interest, clearly and unhindered. He huffed at the display, and headed to his destination. Drones that were not intimidated by him…what a freak occurence…

As Soundwave entered the medical bay, he paid no heed to the red medic speaking idly to a few nearby drones as he loaded them with tools to clean, things to carry, and energon to deliver to stray patients. Breakdown was absent, surely still deep in recharge. The mechs habits were no secret. He walked over to the nearest medical berth and carefully situated his cassette down on the surface. Soundwave pressed two digits against her main frame and scratched lightly. She let out a few beeps and clicks.

Knock Out sauntered over to the Communication’s Officer. He might have made a smart remark or even a ribald comment about how the assassin’s biolights were _especially_ perky today—that was if he had not been taken aback by…that smell. It hit him in the nasal sensors with a vengeance fit to shock. It worked. Primus frag him with a pipe, no way in the Pits…the mech couldn’t be…could he? The medic hadn’t realized he was staring until he felt a certain sinking feeling in his fuel tanks.

Soundwave’s EM field retracted dramatically as a chill came over him. The usually collected and stolid telepath backed up a few steps and postured, upper back plating flaring slightly. _Not interested_. Laserbeak chirred from her spot on the berth, and twitched her wing panels. She felt distress in her master’s field and she didn’t like it—not one bit. It was such a different feeling in the bond that it caused her sensornet to nearly panic. The cherry medic seemed very much at a loss as what to do in the situation. He inched forward carefully. He watched the spy in both confusion and apprehension, trying to decipher for himself how the telepath could be projecting signs of a heat cycle during wartime. He was drawn out of his thoughts as Soundwave swiftly moved to exit the room. He was gone in an instant and the little flier on the table whirred in a high pitched strain at the rapid departure of her obviously troubled host.

“Officer Soundwave, hold on a klik! I need to consult with you a moment before—!” Knock Out skidded out into the hallway to glance both directions before reluctantly retreating back into his work station. He couldn’t up and leave—there were patients to tend to, which now included the disturbed miniature flier atop his main operating berth. The poor little bot was all ruffled up, emitting high frequencies beeps and buzzes… _across links to Soundwave_ , the doctor guessed. He sighed and took a seat next to the cassette. No matter how hard he tried he could conjure up a reason the mech would be going into heat at such a freak time…a strong heat at that. Knock Out rubbed at his nasal sensors and kept in mind that he should keep his CPU in line. He needed to get a proper reading on Soundwave and soon. 

__

~

Starscream woke up to the absence of his new berth partner. It startled him more than it should have to find the telepath absent from his quarters. He sat up, optics still bleary from recharge and felt for Soundwave’s EM field. He had gone. The assassin did take his work very seriously, so the flier wouldn’t chastise him for being so uptight. But something pressed his processor…no, he didn’t suspect it was the way of the telepath to run off in the early dawn megacycles. 

The leader pushed off of the berth and stood. There was a stain on that plush seat across the room that most likely wouldn’t ever come out, as well as on the berth. The scent of interface still lingered. He smirked, remembering the mech that had rested in it, helm thrown back in release. Starscream proceeded to grab a cloth to rid of the dried lubricants on his frame that were born from last night’s bout. There was a ping in his helm, to which his rarely light demeanor fell.

Knock Out: /Requesting your presence Lord Starscream, there seems to be a slight issue./

The seeker’s optics narrowed at the thoughts of what this ‘issue’ could be. His processor conjured different situations that could be reality. He nearly hissed under his breath in annoyance. He had just woke up, for the love of Primus…

Starscream: /And what sort of “issue” is this, Knock Out? Could you be any less specific, _please_?/

Knock Out: /Sorry, I’m working here. It’s Soundwave…/

Starscream’s optics widened at the mention of that name. The seeker didn’t wait to hear the rest of the comm. before he bolted across the room and entered the hallway in record time. His EM field prickled with thick concern as he made his way to the medical wing. A couple of eradicons who had been chuckling and jesting amongst each other straightened up at the sight of their leader briskly striding through the hall. To say the seeker was stressed was an understatement. His wings were hiked up high on his back. 

Starscream entered the medical bay to see the red doctor carefully examining the little cassette that belonged to his lieutenant. The petite bot clicked and chirred at the commander’s entrance. Her side of the bond searched out an inkling of strained fondness for the flier. She didn’t question why. Knock Out felt the seeker coming from a mile away, his field like an inferno. He was not prepared for the levels of authority and protective strains that thrummed through his leader’s EM field.

“Where is my lieutenant?” The seeker asked in a tone to be reckoned with. The medic nearly balked at the seeker’s display. Who had lodged a pole up his aft port?

“Well, commander, he was here not fifteen clicks ago…he was exhibiting symptoms of a heat cycle, sir,” Knock Out vocalized. He watched the seeker’s optics glint with something that didn’t really seem like a statement of approval. He continued. “I wasn’t able to confirm my observation because he left in a hurry—I’m not sure where he went, but he left his cassette here and I can’t just up and leave my patients, after all.”

There was a spike in the seeker’s EM field. He turned from the medic with a low growl. Starscream’s optics narrowed. The seeker’s mood got the best of him. He spun back around to confront the cherry mech.

“You think he is experiencing heat, doctor? Why should that need a thorough investigation…” speaking it brought unbidden images of the Aston Martin’s digits stuck last knuckle-deep into the telepath’s valve—an examination indeed. He knew Knock Out was a professional, and he was good at what he did, no doubt. But something in the seeker’s CPU nagged him to lay down the law. He didn’t want the medic’s servos on Soundwave. He knew it was wise to hold his glossa—but really, when had he ever? “He seems to be faring fine to me. It should be manageable.”

The medic’s red irises contracted slightly. As much as he found irate Starscream perturbing, he was not a mech to back down from a challenge, even if it be directly from his leader. He was tempted to resort to a crude gesture of a servo just to rile up the flier further, but squandered that thought as soon as it passed his processor. He would play it off as no big thing…it was amusing seeing the seeker so unnecessarily pissed off.

“…well, if you’d really like to know, as the medic aboard the Nemesis, it occurred to me that it would only be rational to ease his cycle through. Have you ever considered your deputy might want confidentiality when dealing with something like this, Starscream?” He scoffed. His shoulder plating had been pushed back and his tire wings stood rigid. He would get one of those clawed servos to the faceplates one day, but he wasn’t a meek Con. He was impulsive, proud, and he wasn’t afraid of the cocky flier—just genuinely a little put off by him in the early morning hours. He could deal with it if he could help a fellow out…he had watched Soundwave since their previous leader’s passing.

“Are you suggesting I am blind to the needs of my subordinates?” The winglord grit out, wings flicking high upon his back. Starscream’s servos itched to take the mech and show him just how much he would object to the _confidentiality_ aspect of the visit. Knock Out could frag the entire eradicon army before Starscream allowed him alone with his heat-laden telepath. He hissed under his breath. The red medic was no threat currently…and he would NOT become one, the seeker would make sure.

“I am merely suggesting you might have been a little unobservant to our telepath’s mental state, as well as the fact that heat cycles are more than just a pain in the aft to deal with. If left alone they can put strain on vital system functioning. I am doing this for his own good, _Lord_ Starscream—do you really want to leave him to suffer this out without respite?”

Starscream vented an irritated sigh and resisted the urge to implement his claws on the freshly buffed red paint in front of him. “Mind your duties, doctor—my deputy is in capable servos.” Starscream hooked his claws behind his back (keeping them at a safe distanced from the medic’s pearly complexion). “Trust me, Knock Out, it truly has been considered. I recommend you remember the rank of officers on the Nemesis,” the commander vocalized as he walked away from the medic. “And then ask yourself if you really want to stand in my way.” 

Knock Out’s optics widened in shock as his leader strode from the room, intent on finding the whereabouts of his consort. The nerve of that slag infested…

“Unicron-spawned son of a glitch…” Knock Out bit down on his glossa. Let him go. Let him leave…there was a certain amount of jealousy that welled in his chassis as he dared to think that the flier had set his attentions on Soundwave. The two were polar opposites. It made no sense. It wasn’t logical in the least—the seeker had done everything in his power to undermine the spy in the past. What had changed so drastically

The chir of the flier on his operating table brought him back to the present. He cursed under his breath and grabbed a cloth and pipette cleaner to attend to the minor patch-up work that the cassette required. He would reconsider his options later.

~

Soundwave had since retreated back to his quarters in haste. He was so fragging foolish—what was he doing?! What in the Pits had he done wrong to go into full blown heat in the middle of wartime? For the first time in a millennia the Communication’s Officer clutched the sides of his helm with his servos and dug the tips of his claws into the metal. He was losing it again. He had been through this once…he didn’t think about it often. To think that he was being driven by something so primal, clearly clogging and settling hot within his veins made him retract into himself. He knocked his forehelm against the wall and just stood like that, debating if it was his temperature that had spiked again or the wall that was icy cold. What had happened to him? All it took was a single night to screw over his supposedly unbreakable stoic nature. It all crumbled in the end, it always did…he had come undone for Starscream. _Starscream._

He was supposed to be loathing him and instead he had ended up under him, valve filled to the brim with his accursed (satisfying) spike. Go figure.

The seeker knew, the medic knew, and…that was enough to make the Con more than uneasy. He wanted to keep his former self out of the war, and that included the parts of himself he had not yet figured out. The only other who had noticed his recurring heat cycles was Megatron…he had helped him in the pits, unwilling to see his comrade taken advantage of in his time of vulnerability.

A mechanical clicking exited his vocalizer. It was low and laced with loathing for all that remained out of his servos. He drew himself away from the wall and took a deep invent. It was still early, but he had a feeling that his commander would require his presence at some point. By completing simple deduction and camera loop search, he found that the seeker was not in his berth…or in the Command Center. He felt an EM field vaguely against his own and instantly recognized the requests for entrance at his door. 

Reluctantly, he found the command in his CPU to allow the seeker entrance.

/Access: granted/. 

He felt the irritation in the seeker’s EM field and immediately felt a wave of defiance creep up on him in response. He might have had certain doubts about the mech, might have despised him thoroughly once…but his commander looked more than slightly worried as he approached him, wings situated mid-back rather than hiked up high as they had been earlier. His optics never failed to amaze Soundwave in how reflective they were of the leader’s emotions. The telepath nodded to him, otherwise lost in how to address him.

“Soundwave’s presence is required?” Soundwave inquired a bit more quietly than usual.

The seeker was strongly affected by the feel of something between shame, and irritation in the spy’s EM field. He knew Soundwave was vulnerable (Knock Out’s words came back to bite him), and unaccustomed to the way he was feeling at the moment. The last thing he wanted was for the assassin to feel cornered on the ship, or around him in particular. He had it in his mind that he had come to retrieve the spy for evacuating his chambers so early, but, in reality, there was no denying that he had come to comfort him. There was no ill intent where Soundwave was involved…it was the exact opposite really.

“Soundwave, I found out your morning had a rough start,” Starscream spoke genuinely and tried to push the irritation for the Aston Martin in the medical bay down for later purposes. He watched the still assassin, testing the air for any changes in the mech’s EM field. The biolights along Soundwave’s midriff flickered. The telepath nodded discreetly.

“Affirmative: Lord Starscream,” the spy vocalized softly.

The seeker for once found the title unfitting of the moment. He shook his helm and waved his servo dismissively. “Call me Starscream,” he spoke tritely and stepped toward the assassin with caution. “I came to make sure all was going well with you, Soundwave.”

Soundwave felt as though he had been slapped—his audials must have failed for the second time in two solar cycles. His leader wanted to know about his wellbeing? Him. Out of all of the mechs aboard the Nemesis. He chortled internally, but then closed off any light-sparked thoughts that passed his processor.

“Why?” Soundwave postured. He huffed, the sound passed his vents in something akin to a hiss. “Starscream: will not make a fool of Soundwave. State reason for being here: or leave. Soundwave: not required at post for two more megacycles.” The spy recalled the vision he had experienced in recharge, and further flared his chassis and back plating.

“On the contrary, I am not here to do any such thing—I merely want to know how you are doing. I know, hard to believe, isn’t it? I _want_ to know.”

The telepath clenched and unclenched his servos. “Soundwave: does not buy it. Starscream is surely out to use heat to get compliance. Will not work.” A growl pierced the air, and the seeker blinked at that.

“Are you suggesting I used you? I would never—are you actually suggesting…” the seeker’s wings angled back now, straightening up on his back, as he postured in response. “Last night you had the option to leave. I offered to help you relieve yourself and you came to me in return. I do not fancy non-consensual interface, if that is what you are getting at. Finding a lay on this ship might be hard, but I’m not _that_ desperate.”

Soundwave was silent for a klik as he contemplated that. He ended up feeling prickly and no less hostile. “Understood.” The spy’s plating flattened slightly, although he still eyed his commander suspiciously behind his visor. “Soundwave: appreciates honesty. Needs to know why you are here now—real reason.”

“Hear me out will you? You are obviously not in the right processor since the…well, ‘happening’. I have been negligent I fear—”

“Soundwave does not need a _caretaker_.” The spy bristled.

“Not my point.” Starscream bit back, not missing a beat. “I just wanted to let you know I am here…and not for your heat, for Primus’ sake! Soundwave—you can be really dense for being the ‘hear-all-see-all’ mech of the ship.”

“Don’t need your sympathy: or your pity. Keep it.” The telepath took a step forward, made uncomfortable instantly by the familiar burn in his nether regions at the ferocity of the seeker’s gaze. “Starscream can shove that notion: right up his—”

“I don’t pity you. I don’t know your relationship with our former leader. I am not here to file through your life, not here to spit in your mask and tell you to bow down to me—I literally just want to know if you are comfortable enough right _now_. Your cassette is safe with Knock Out, and he is convinced you need his ‘professional help’,” Starscream spat the last part. “I thought I’d consult with you before our medic did. There. My thought process for you. I want to know if you were okay. Is that too much to ask?”

Soundwave’s heat was a burden. The shape of Starscream’s dermas were nice, and the way they formed words was enticing to watch. Soundwave’s gaze was transfixed. _Hot dermas, pressed solidly against his own, igniting fire to his belly, and allowing him to forget a little, however detrimental it was…the taste of the seeker lingering on his glossa, spicy on his own mouth…_ It reminded him of a dexterous cobalt glossa somehow knew his valve like the back of his servo, that tasted inexplicably right against his own, and seemed to quell his Primus blasted hunger for everything pertaining to the lust that had fired up in his systems once more.

“Mind games: not appreciated,” Soundwave rumbled, but moved forwards swiftly nonetheless. Soundwave had not realized that he had been staring into the pools of crimson optics of his commanding officer so intensely until now. Starscream’s wings flicked outwards in interest. The spy was confused, yes. There was turmoil within his processor. He deducted this was what it felt like to succumb to insanity—it was a strong possibility it could be happening to him. But he could not deny the warmth that spread through his abdomen like an electrical fire as he pressed himself against Starscream’s compact torso. His CPU recalled the night before. He would not shy away from the seeker now.

“Soundwave?” Starscream inquired huskily, even though he knew full well what the telepath yearned for as tactful digits came up to cup his jaw.

“Soundwave: will not say sorry for presumptions,” the telepath spoke as he slid ever closer to the winglord, as though expecting their frames to mesh and become one in the process. They stood chassis to chassis, close enough that their sparks spun in their casings, responding to one another through the barriers separating them. “But…will gladly take Starscream’s digits over the medic’s. _Touch_ …Soundwave: wants it.”

A smile flashed across Starscream’s dermas. “Something told me so. So we’re on good terms for now? You won’t hesitate to tell me what is going on in that processor of yours?” Starscream leaned down and nipped at Soundwave’s neck cables. “Voice what you _need_ from me?”

There was a huff from the telepath, and a smooth servo motion that brought his face out of the crook of Soundwave’s neck. “Don’t push it,” the assassin barked out with less spite than usual. The spy reached up to his mask and loosened the latches enough to shift his mask up and expose plump grey dermas. His next move was centered on immersing himself in the taste of arousal on Starscream’s glossa. The telepath wasted no time.

Soundwave moaned into the seeker’s mouth, bit at his dermas…it was perfect, and he would murder any mech who got in between himself and Starscream, who passionately returned his enthusiasm. Lewd sounds filled the silence, consisting of slurps and smacks and heavy venting. Fans clicked on in record time and it would have been pointless for the seeker to deny he was affected by his lieutenant. The winglord licked into his subordinates mouth, relishing the lewd moans he inspired by doing so.

“Want…you… **now** ,” Soundwave stated between kisses (if they could be called that anymore). Starscream’s glossa wound it’s way back between the spy’s dermas in record time. Soundwave’s dentae scraped the soft appendage, and he purred as it danced over his own in response.

“I know.” Starscream said hoarsely, clutching at obsidian hips and holding the scorching telepath’s panel to his own. The urge to console the unusually edgy spy tugged at his spark. He knew that Soundwave had been impacted in the past few months, but he hadn’t considered the extent to which he suffered. He ran his servos over and in between the intricate layers of armor that made up the spy’s chest. In all honesty, Starscream was a romantic mech…he really was—he had just never given in to that side of his nature. War changed a mech. It left nothing untouched. It made him commit to things that he wished he’d never taken part in. It made him eccentric and desperate to retain power. It made him hungry for things he couldn’t have…and hungrier for the things he knew he shouldn’t…

Soundwave moaned as the claws of the seeker marked edges of each armor plate. Starscream’s smile had faded into a more sullen expression and he felt the flier’s EM field waver. His leader was not looking at him anymore, but rather immersed in the musings of his own processor, staring past him. The strange comfort of the seeker’s field had retracted with his new thoughts and it wasn’t missed by Soundwave. The telepath could detect the conflict from a mile away, and that wouldn’t do. Their fans still blared out into the charged air, and he wanted nothing more than the ache in his valve to be the focus of this meeting. The spy understood and yet he did not simultaneously. It was a large step in a foreign direction, but at the moment, the Communication’s Officer couldn’t bring himself to care.

If he was going insane, he might as well embrace it with all he had to offer.

He wouldn’t be the only one falling hard into whatever the Pit this was, after all. He tilted his helm and mouthed softly at Starscream’s dermas, taking the first step towards the edge.

The Decepticon leader responded to the kiss with vigor. Soundwave had curled his digits into the seeker’s neck cabling and therefore given him little leeway to escape the contact—not that he wanted to. The spy hummed in pleasure as he lavished his leader’s dermas ceaselessly. His optics were half lidded as he observed his commander’s faceplates. The seeker wanted to know how he was faring…and Soundwave would give him a chance to find out for himself. A single chance was more than he had given many mechs in his lifetime.

He dragged his denta over the flier’s dermas and nipped. He released hot breath against his commander’s intake as he allowed his vents to catch up. As much as he loved the taste of Starscream’s dermas, he did wish for further contact elsewhere. Soundwave skimmed his servo down the seeker’s chest plating. He carefully petted the heated metal that was there. He bowed his helm to nip at the wiring in his lord’s neck. The flier hissed as he released tension from his frame. The servo roamed his abdominal armor with care. He wrapped his servo around to the spy’s back plating.

The seeker leaned into the assassin. Because of his slightly taller stature, Starscream was able to search around the shoulder plating of the other to knead delicately into his usually elusive protoform. He pressed into the thin seam that revealed the much softer metal and thoroughly enjoyed the sounds the other elicited. The area most likely never received any tactile attention whatsoever. The spy shivered. Soundwave leaned his helm into the seeker as the commander’s digits pressed and eased the tense protoform.

The telepath, though eager to soothe the throbbing behind his panels, returned the massage with sucks and kisses against the intricate wiring that was exposed from the commander’s shoulder plates at this angle. He sighed as his sensitive protoform was dealt with accordingly. The seeker huskily vocalized pleasured sounds into the spy’s audial. He moved a servo to join the other in caressing the tense bindings in the neck of his second in command. There was a small hum of approval.

Soundwave progressively leaned more and more into the seeker, who had increased the intensity of the massage. It had moved now to his lower spinal plating, nearing his hips. It felt so good. With information consistently running up and through his every wire and connector, it felt nice for the tension to be released (not that any mech was allowed to touch him like this). The spy struggled to suppress a whimper as a particularly tight ligament along his spine was pressed into and loosened. The heat in his abdomen swirled at the flier’s servos all over him, curing him of the aches that came with his current condition.

He backed slowly to take a seat on the telepath’s berth. He pulled the Communications Officer along with him. Soundwave messily readjusted himself, just avoiding slipping to the floor as his CPU was focused on interfacing over all else. For Primus sakes his pedes wouldn’t operate! Starscream chuckled at the disoriented assassin and pulled the mech to straddle him.

“Easy, Soundwave.”

The telepath searched the seeker’s optics. His irises cycled smaller as he sought Starscream’s intentions. Soundwave’s dermas were set inquisitively. He seemed a little shaky from the massage, kudos to the smug commander whose lap he sat on. Without giving it much consideration, the deputy rested his helm against the seeker’s and pushed his pelvic plating forward. There was a subtle grunt from the seeker as the assassin ground into his lap. The telepath stopped abruptly after a few clicks as a certain impending idea laced its way into Soundwave’s buzzing processor…

The spy slid off of his leader. Something inside of his chest twisted with an odd sense of glee at this position. It had been so long, so long since he had been this close to a mech, to be able to express anything but war codes and encrypted files. He rested between the seeker’s thighs and looked up into his Starscream’s just slightly confused, but otherwise curious optics. Soundwave’s faceplates grew hot at the thought of his own audacity. But then again…

The telepath laved his glossa over the commander’s heated panel. Starscream sucked in a breath. His fans hummed at the sight of the mech nuzzling against his interface array, sending sweet electricity shooting through his spine. He brushed his servo over Soundwave’s dermas, and was surprised at the velvet tongue that met his digits. The telepath caught two, and sucked them past his dermas. He wanted to show one mech that he wasn’t so lost when it came to lust. He felt so acutely, more so than other mechs…and that encompassed interfacing.

He ran his glossa over the hot panels of his leader’s array and marveled at the gentle servo that rested on his helm. The flier hummed and sighed in approval. It didn’t take long at all for Starscream’s panel to retract and release his spike. Soundwave had not been able to see last solar cycle, as the interface had been heated and quick. But now…oh, now he had a clear view. A thin, red strip ran up each side of the spike, and a notable ridge adorned the head. The seeker was well endowed, and longer than Soundwave had originally thought. Soundwave clicked in approval. The winglord moaned as Soundwave nuzzled his spike. He would have never suspected that the introvert Communications mech had such a promiscuous side to him. 

The assassin dragged his glossa over the soft metal and felt the spike twitch in his grip. Starscream’s digits scratched at his helm. The spy lapped at the length, and over the head of the spike, sucking softly. There was a hiss from above. Soundwave’s own ventilation systems were speeding up at Starscream’s reactions.

“You… _hmm_ …dare t-tease… _hah_ …me, Soundwave?” The seeker stumbled, trying to retain a stern gaze at his tease of a Communications Officer but failing royally. The spy’s glossa ran over the ridge again and again and it sent glorious sparks of pleasure through Starscream’s sensornet. 

Soundwave breathed on the pointed head for a moment. The spike strained in his steady grip. He wasted no time then, as he provided a suitable answer for his leader. He felt the spike slip past his dermas and fill his intake and push gradually against the back of his throat piping. The seeker gasped. The spy swallowed around the intrusion, and ignored his processor which reminded him how uncouth his behavior was.

“Yes… _Yessss_ …” Starscream groaned as he caressed his partner’s helm.

Soundwave moved his helm back and sucked. He bobbed and created a rhythm that was familiar to him in dingy rooms somewhere in the pits of Kaon. He swallowed around the seeker and allowed his throat lining to contract around the hot spike. His glossa roamed over every contour of the spike, lapped over each ridge and pressed into the dip of the head. It all sent the seeker into a tangent of grunts and hardly concealed gasps. Starscream’s thighs shook as Soundwave ran his servos over them, and crept into the seams inside his pelvic region. The way the assassin moved while he sucked spike was mesmerizing.

“Good… _hnn_ good, Soundwave,” Starscream spread his thighs more to allow those dermas more room. _Oh Soundwave_ …he was precious, too good, and this feeling was rendering his processor to a hot mess of slag and it all felt so good, Primus dammit…

Soundwave felt his valve contract. He recalled how it felt to have Starscream’s spike rubbing against his neglected nodes, stretching and causing his frame to spasm. He hadn’t noticed the lubricant that dribbled from his closed panel and down the inside of his thigh until now. The spy wanted that fill that he had felt last evening—badly. He recognized that growing ache in his valve as it just so happened that he had ignored it for a Primus forsaken time before the seeker had taken him to his berth. He pulled away from the spike, his saliva leaving a trail connected to the flier.

He shakily stood and rubbed his own chassis up against his Starscream’s. The strained spike pressed against his abdominal plating. He searched out his commander’s dermas and captured them with his own. The seeker’s servos found Soundwave’s hips and squeezed. They hummed into the kiss, moaning and panting. Soundwave could read his leader well and found it a comfort that he didn’t have to guess at the intentions of his new berth partner.

Starscream’s spike dripped as the dark plated mech moved against him enticingly. Everything about the spy was so Primus fragging perfect, the heat, the scent of his arousal, hmm…Starscream allowed his deputy to push him back onto the berth, and climb onto him to straddle his hips. The assassin licked at his dermas and nuzzled into his faceplates. His mouth was sweet to the seeker…it was like an aphrodisiac. He was hopelessly hooked on Soundwave. He met the spy’s dermas once more and savored the whir that left the other’s vocalizer. Soundwave kissed his audial and whispered.

“My turn.” He lapped gently along the winglord’s audial and moved his hips against the straining spike. He ground down and huffed at his own sensitivity. His valve actually ached. He sat up and adjusted himself. Soundwave lifted his hips and moved so that the head of the seeker’s spike nudged at the puffy outer folds of his valve. He hissed.

“Your turn, now? Well then.” the seeker watched as the assassin teasingly ran his valve over his spike. He held still as the telepath cooed and left sloppy trails of lubricant along his straining member. The heat that radiated from Soundwave’s core was intoxicating…Starscream bit down on his glossa.

“Affirmative.”

And with that said Soundwave sheathed half of the turgid spike inside of him one fluid movement. He threw his helm back and a trilled, his insides fluttering at the intrusion. Starscream held his breath as the universe came to a standstill. His processor screamed to lavish the mech, everything he could give him—but the scene was something that he left to play out on its own. It was the way Soundwave panted, the way he moved his hips forward and down the rest of the way onto his spike oh so slowly…the valve squeezed him so tightly that for a klick he swore there was no way he was going to fit all the way inside. Patience was truly a virtue.

Coolant dripped from Soundwave’s frame. He leaned over Starscream and vented heavily, just taking in the feeling of being hilted on the seeker’s spike. He might have been sore from last night’s affairs, but it never occurred to him to stop. No, he wanted more, so much more from the seeker. What was wrong with him, he didn’t know, but looking down at Starscream, he shivered in delight. Maybe it was the way he found himself oddly out of control for once. He was always so damned serious, he held himself back so often…when had he felt like this last? The seeker’s servos rested on his hips. The spy sighed at the caresses ghosting over his abdomen, lavishing the curves of his frame with appreciation. He recalled Kaon, the gladiatorial rings with their hidden hallways and underground chambers. He had a few who had warmed his berth before…but it was always rushed, rough, and sometimes resulted in energon from a careless suitor. The risk of having the lines of safety breached was real. But here…

Soundwave moved with no hesitation. The two fit together so naturally. Starscream thrusted up into the telepath, creating a rhythm for them both that was not rushed, and sustainable. He watched his Communications Officer writhe on top of him. He bit into the beautiful mech’s neck cables. He groaned out praise to him as the telepath ground his hips down, riding Starscream for all it was worth. The commander rubbed up and down the Soundwave’s spinal plating and reveled in the way it moved so smoothly under his digits. They were both a mess, panting, squirming, pushing, pulling, licking, kissing. Soundwave’s optics focused on the red glow of his lord’s optics and he didn’t look away. He feared the sensation in his chassis. It was raw and he felt the urge to push his chest plating against the seeker’s and forget who he was if only for a moment. A series of clicks escaped his vocalizer as a certain cluster of nodes was struck in the far end of his valve. He pushed his face into Starscream’s neck and cried out.

The air pulsed with the electricity of their lovemaking. Hot, and wet, it danced over their olfactory sensors. It was more than the flier had expected in the morning hours but it was Primus given. If he could name a sanctuary, this would be his. He felt his overload approaching and cursed it this once. Soundwave was tensing up, openly panting and sinfully gorgeous. The sounds that the telepath made—who knew he was so loud in the berth?! And that mask…it had to go. Starscream longed to see those faceplates in full.

“Star…Starscream…f-frag…AHhhhhhh,” the assassin bit out before his valve clamped down. He trilled at the intense wave of absolute ecstasy that threatened to shut down his main systems. He shook and continued to writhe atop his commanding officer, hips sinuously riding out the euphoric sensations. Starscream tipped into his own overload soon after, groaning loudly at the sudden release of translfuid. It was intense enough to leave him drained. He cradled the obsidian helm in his neck and moaned in response to Soundwave’s vocalizer cracking. Hot fluids spilt over the seeker’s thighs, and the spy squirmed as his valve became more sensitive to contact. Soundwave collapsed on top of his leader. He had set himself up for imminent downfall. Earlier he had planned on confronting Starscream, giving him a piece of his mind, but what did it matter now? He was instead wrapped up in the seeker’s embrace, cheekplate pressed against his silver chassis armor.

He just couldn’t muster the willpower to get up.


	3. New Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream and Soundwave _chat _and initiate their new relationship standings__

There was an insistent pinging in the commander’s helm. Starscream scowled. He recognized that frequency…he also recognized that his deputy on top of him must be in very deep recharge to not hear it himself. Soundwave vented deeply and evenly, his servos wound around the seeker’s midriff in a loose embrace. Starscream opened comm links to the eradicons who were assigned to the deck in the morning hours and demanded that they take hold of the situation until he could pull himself and his exhausted deputy together. He moved to rest on an elbow joint and felt the ex-gladiator tense and whine lowly. The helm that rested on his chestplates nuzzled him. There was a certain amount of guilt that came with rousing exhausted, heat-plagued Soundwave. He brushed his servo over the telepath’s spinal cables. Soundwave was so warm atop him and…

There was a notable tug from below, a ripple of soft, velvety mesh, and slickened metal fluctuated around his spike. He realized Soundwave had not moved off of him post-interface, and he had neglected to pull out of him. The valve still hugged his rod tightly and responded to his slightest movement. The assassin’s vocalizer caught as he shifted in recharge. His backplates twitched and he lifted his helm. Soundwave’s optics adjusted to focus on Starscream’s faceplates. Soundwave tuned into the seeker’s EM field in a nanoklik and tensed, immediately alleviating his weight from his lord’s chassis. The spy gasped as he recognized the sharp pressure located in his valve. Starscream reached out a servo to rest against the spy’s chassis.

“It’s alright…there are minor complications with the mining operation. It is under the control of the soldiers until we get to the Command Deck to discuss further plans,” Starscream stated. Soundwave searched his leader’s optics as he spoke.

It helped little to ease the apprehension that had crept into Soundwave’s own processor. It was not his leader’s responsibility to respond to project errors and malfunctions. He should have issues like this handed, as the Communications Officer on board. He should have been the one to detect the alert from them…he was the conductor and head of the operation, after all. He looked down and away from the winglord. 

“Soundwave…should have detected flaws. Apologies, Starscream.” His pride sunk to new levels as he contemplated the results his inattentiveness would have bred in the past. Megatron had never laid a servo on the spy, but in general, a leader’s disappointment was enough. Shame fluctuated throughout his processor, and flitted through his EM field. 

“Your frame is demanding things out of your control—your systems require sufficient recharge,” the silver seeker explained in a calm tone as he pulled the telepath’s chin up so that he could look into his hidden optics. “You were under the impression that you wronged me?” The flier scoffed as he brushed over the assassin’s dermal plating. “Think again.” Starscream huffed as he fondled the dark plating around his officer’s waist.

Soundwave’s EM field evened out and a wave of relief came over him. He allowed his leader’s digits to explore his dermas, and subconsciously the spy moved his hips. He puffed a vent of warm air in a sigh and contemplated. He wished to stay in the warmth of his berth, on top of Starscream’s sturdy abdomen…but duties called. He lifted his hips, letting loose a hiss that was in no way an expression of discomfort as the spike was released from between his soaked thighs. His valve remained swollen, and he mourned for the fullness that it now lacked. He felt digits at the nape of his neck. He looked back at the seeker. He had never envisioned in his life that he would see this side of Starscream…he still wasn’t sure how to respond to it.

“Soundwave: appreciates patience. The Mining Project will be corrected promptly,” the telepath vocalized. He relieved the seeker of his weight and got up off of the berth. He retrieved cloths from shelving along the walls and delivered one to his commanding officer. His leader nodded his thanks and the mechs wiped the evidence of their interface from their frames. It was a moment unrushed and silence remained. That was until an insistent alert assaulted the personal comm lines that lined Soundwave’s processor. This time, the Chief of Communications was very aware of the frequency that radiated in his helm. He recognized it. Doubtful that Starscream picked up on the warning, he made it well known that it was time to take leave.

“Soundwave’s presence required on Command Deck: _now_ ,” the telepath vocalized before exiting his quarters. There was no time for formalities. The soldiers rarely used that frequency.

~

Soundwave briskly entered the Command Deck and nearly shoved aside the eradicon stationed at his station in his unusual haste. Script scrolled over the main board while on the others, visual feed as well as sound files uploaded. He connected a tentacle with the port below and searched hurriedly. Old file. Another older one…archives—he had suspicions but he did not want to jump to conclusions right away…he wound past random filed encryptions and sorted through excess audio feed that bombarded his processor with the initial connection.

“Soundwave, sir, Autobots are in range of the mine,” the eradicon flier closest to him announced.

As he suspected. He knew they wouldn’t have stayed gone for long. The enemy had to come around at some time to foil Soundwave’s meticulous planning and it seemed that they had outdone themselves. Really they had. The assassin nearly growled out loud in irritation. He had pinpointed the most inconspicuous mine, set up cameras and had all but laced the place with detectors. He had refused to send his cassette into the area in the off chance that this sort of thing might have occurred. Shockwave was involved in the operation, if not only vaguely, but really—did he have to do everything himself? He was only one vital piece to this equation. If only the scientist had not high-tailed his aft to who knows where…

The spy discontinued the feed loop in a swift retraction of his tentacle. He had an air of calm in his exterior that did not seem to calm the soldiers in the least. Soundwave’s EM field boiled with irritation.

“Take post: while Soundwave is absent,” the assassin ordered an eradicon before turning on his pede and making his way to the main corridor. He ran a script and sent a comm link to their medic without thinking.

Knock Out: /Soundwave—I’ll be there in two nanoklicks. Your cassette is being watched over by Breakdown./

Soundwave sent notification to his little flier who he had so unceremoniously abandoned in the Medical Wing of the ship. Within him, his quieted connection fluttered back to life. Laserbeak’s side of the bond sent to his side the love for her host. She pushed through pleased trickles of sensation into the connection at the knowledge that Soundwave was alright. He notified the petite cassette of his leave and the potential shut down of the connection if danger proved eminent. He felt satisfied at this. His cassette was not left in the dark.

The medic met him at the designated point in record time. It was a good thing, as Soundwave found no patience at this point. He was determined to keep his operation protected and out of the servos of the Autobots. Knock Out straightened up in front of his superior (who reeked of interface and barely contined heat signature). The Communications Officer’s aura was tense. 

The cherry mech placed a clawed servo on his hip. “So, Officer Soundwave…about calling me for backup. What did you have in mind, exactly?” Soundwave watched the medic’s crimson irises cycle smaller. The con’s optics narrowed questioningly.

“Knock Out will act as lookout for Soundwave: as necessary measures are taken to ensure: the continuation of mining project. If further explanation is required: will not hesitate to notify.”

Knock Out held his glossa. He shouldn’t doubt the assassin, but his processor told him that this kind of action was uncharacteristically brash for the officer. The idea had flaws on all ends. It screamed wrong in so many ways. This didn’t sound like something Starscream would have ordered of his new frag. But with the way Soundwave’s EM field bristled, the medic found it only mannerly to stay on good terms with the mech.

What had Knock Out been pulled into? This had so many ways it could come back and bite him in the aft, but of course he wouldn’t say anything…this was technically his superior. Although, he could make suggestions.

“Officer Soundwave…listen, I believe we got off on the wrong pede earlier. I know you are experiencing heat, and being a medic, I know that it…well, to put it simply, it impairs judgement—”

Soundwave turned, his EM field a thick mass of prickling, thorny confrontation that pressed against Knock Out’s with no hesitation. “Soundwave: is perfectly operational. CPU is not deterred by something so trivial: heat cycle has been dealt with accordingly.” The telepath huffed threateningly. “Knock Out is questioning Soundwave’s orders…?”

As was familiar, this was the moment his stubborn and lust-driven patient would refuse to heed his advice and continue with a plan that was bound to fall apart from the start. One of his servos rested over his chassis plates in a display of forced nonchalance. The medic expected a direct order or some sort of correction to his remark, but all he received after it all was dead silence and a slight dip of the spy’s helm. So the conversation was over. _Okaaay_ …well, that was an inkling of the old Communications Officer he once knew…maybe everything would go smoothly?

Knock Out cursed his position a thousand times over.

The earthen landscape was lined with canyons and towering rock formations. The nearest star beat down upon their armor with a vengeance. The air was laced with other EM fields of enemy bots. Soundwave looked skeptically over the dusty ground and Knock Out scanned the area. This was insanity. He felt the …he followed the assassin as he silently crept along the larger rocks that were positioned randomly enough through the dry area. Grit and sand wedged itself in between the red medic’s seams. He held his glossa.

Soundwave: /Knock Out: stay close./

The comm gave the Aston Martin no solace as he followed the assassin mech over the dusty ground. He had no idea what Soundwave planned to do. Autobot scum, as petty as they were, still had the advantage here. He was not afraid, no, he was perfectly certain that he was capable of taking care of himself, but Soundwave...there was a doubtful feeling in his chassis though as he considered the spy. He noticed the way Soundwave no longer had that indomitable air of power. It was worrying.

Starscream had told him that there was nothing that Knock Out should worry about, which in itself spurred the medic’s anxiety. By _taking care of Soundwave_ , the doctor supposed his leader meant they had interfaced. Contrary to popular belief, besides providing some temporary relief, fragging a mech’s valve while they were experiencing heat did not sate it. There were so many other elements to consider while a mech was going through a heat cycle. It was a primitive code that had stuck with Cybertronians for the purposes of activating maturity in mechs. The bottom line was it shouldn’t have activated in wartime, and now Knock Out was in the midst of experiencing one of the consequences of a mech in heat.

Primus help him.

The doctor nearly jumped out of his plating as a the force of a pede on the cliff above sent rocks sliding down the vertical rock face towards him. He quieted his vents and crouched under the overhang, brushing against the telepath’s abdominal armor as he did so. Soundwave’s armor twitched and the Aston Martin moved from his space. The medic squinted against the glare of the sun and sought to catch a glimpse of armor. Grey and red accenting. It seemed the Autobot medic was out as well. How about that. Screw Soundwave for all it was worth—for his overbearing nature that was exerted with such eloquence and ease over a mech like him. He was a sucker for beautiful mechs, but that didn’t even begin to describe the telepath. Speaking as a health official, and a professional, Soundwave was easy on the optics (as well as a rare find, being an assassin class mech).

There was a ping in his processor. 

_Well, frag._

Starscream: /Knock Out! Where is your sorry aft? And where is Soundwave? I can’t reach him./

Well, there it was. His eminent doom awaiting him. He had not been aware that his leader hadn’t been briefed on the mission (although he had an inkling). He was careful to keep an optic trained on the overhang. The Autobot was gone from the cliff. He had doubts that the spy was in the right processor on this one and that genuinely worried him. It had been a good amount of time since the last conflict with the enemy and he had felt the EM fields on arrival. His plating prickled.

He hesitantly responded to Starscream.

Knock Out: /Reporting from the ground, commander. Officer Soundwave, uh…is not available at this time. I was _unaware _that you had not been notified of these…plans./__

There. No harm done (right?). Starscream was sure wound tightly these past few solar cycles…the medic was so certain the arrogant seeker had it out for the spy for the longest time. He had always aimed to surpass the telepath in the past, so what in Primus name happened to change that? The harsh fritz of a forced comm broke his train of thought.

Starscream: / _You what?!_ / There was a hiss from the other side of the open connection. /Tell me this is a joke, Knock Out…reassure me that the Decepticon medic is NOT off of the ship and that my second in command has not gone off without my say…/

Knock Out’s systems heated in irritation. He bit back at his leader with unconcealed spite.

Knock Out: /What do you want _me _to do about it? Frag it all! Do I sound like I am joking to you? I’m not your deputy’s sparkling-sitter—he ordered me to accompany him and I did./__

Starscream: /Cut the scrap and communicate to your superior your leader has ordered your immediate return./

Knock Out would have responded back with something witty if he had not noticed Soundwave moving along the rocks without him. The medic hurriedly caught up on silent pedes, and ignored the comm requests from the irate seeker back on board the vessel.

Soundwave was careful as he crept along the border of the mine. This was a manageable group of bots. It would have made him more secure to have his cassette scoping out overhead, but this was not an advantage he obtained now. The spy would just have to be even more aware than he usually was of his surroundings. Every fall of a pede would be accounted for. He felt the EM fields of random Autobots mingling with his own (which was retracted as far in as physically possible).

It was his luck that two of them had already gone to investigate the mouth of the mine. He internally boiled with rage at the fact that each of his strategically manufactured systems was buckling. He felt as though he was going to lose it. It was new to him to feel this out of control with his emotional status, but he had the feeling was well equipped to indulge it. He narrowed his focus on the yellow and black plated mech that curiously peered into the canal. Soundwave recognized the Autobot scout and felt that if he made an impact on any of them, this one would be made an example of. This was Optimus’ apprentice, after all.

Knock Out paused and brushed grit off of his forearm plating. He did not expect for Soundwave to leave him as abruptly as he did, and was left fumbling for what to do as the spy made his way swiftly into the mouth of the cave, keeping to the shadows. The yellow Autobot scout was unaware of the fate that awaited him.

Bumblebee did not expect the surge of searing, black plating and an EM field that flared in contempt (and something other). It sapped the air front his vents. His vocalizer blitzed and beeped in his utter shock at being caught off guard. He sought to charge his arm gun to no avail. It all happened too quickly. The assailant was already on him, tearing at this plating, pulling his pedes out from under him with—electricity charged feelers. _Soundwave?!_ His spinal plating struck the ground with a resounding ‘smack’ and a feeler planted itself firmly upon his chassis. He was left staring up at the deadly, lithe mech that was poised to strike, glowing tentacles snaking outward from their casing.

Smokescreen had moved into action as soon as he had seen the Con. He charged at Soundwave, closing in on the mech only to swipe at empty air. He roared out as the claws of a tentacle struck out and plugged in effortlessly with a seam beneath his abdominal plating. Electricity pulsed through his frame, whiting out his optics and nearly incapacitating him. Smokescreen barked out a yell, and fought to escape the charge that shook his frame. Soundwave shifted his weight so that he could focus on both of the Autobots at once. He tightened the sharp digits of the feeler firmly planted in Bumblebee’s chassis and lifted the bot’s frame from the dusty ground. Bumblebee’s cerulean optics widened, and he clutched at the strong cable hoisting him up. Soundwave flung his captive forcefully aside and shifted his attention as he heard the telltale clang of the scout’s metal against the wall of the mine. Ratchet’s vocalizer came from close by.

Ratchet had seen the Communication’s Officer numerous times in the past, and he recognized the EM field of the mech instantly. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. The Con was upset that they were at their energon mine. Why else would the faceless mech be here? The old medic aimed the blaster he had snagged before the search and fired. There was a mechanical hiss and then a groan as Soundwave readjusted himself. The injured tentacle withdrew from Smokescreen’s frame, seared down to the inner wiring and dangling hopelessly now from the thicker end.

“Smokescreen—are you alright?” The medic asked as he shoved himself into the assassin’s personal space. He jabbed in quick strokes to get at the Decepticon spy’s softer abdominal plating.

“Don’t worry about me Ratch, focus on the Con!” Smokescreen shrugged off the remaining strains of the electrocution that sizzled over his plating and got to his pedes. “Bee’s down—we need backup!”

Soundwave was not about to succumb to an Autobot. A flame lapped at the spy’s internals, the same one that had inspired his cunning in the gladiatorial pits. He lashed out at the old medic and forced him back a few pedes. The white and red mech grunted in response and squared his shoulder guards in a warning display. The medic’s plating flared.

Ratchet was more than surprised to feel the abrupt fluctuation of interest (before it just as abruptly dissipated) in the Communications Officer’s field. As clear as day was a heat signature, projected in Soundwave’s aura. It was heady and thick in the air around them, and the way that Soundwave shed heat gave the medic’s systems quite a shock. He stepped back, his CPU objecting strongly to injuring the spy in such a state. It was immoral, and Optimus…he would never approve of such a thing in or out of wartime, but his own team came first. The need to protect the other Autobots was priority above all else, even if his base coding warred with his CPU.

Soundwave debated his course of action for a few nanoclicks and then struck out. The back of his forearm shunted into Ratchet’s abdominal plating and he delivered a sharp kick to the shin plate nearest to him. Ratchet did his best to keep up, thoroughly distracted by the assassin’s condition. He swerved and swung behind the bot to deliver a shock to his spinal plating through his good feeler. There was a grunt from the Autobot doctor before he aimed (against the warnings in his CPU) to shoot at the spy. It grazed dangerously close to Soundwave’s helm, but ceased to make contact. Ratchet reevaluated the situation.

Soundwave’s pupils contracted beneath his visor as he registered his blind side being intruded by another mech. As much faith as he had in his abilities, there was something about this situation that caused the armor on his hackles to flare. He backed up a few steps and blocked the succession of Smokescreen’s swipes. Soundwave growled, low and menacing.

A few nanokliks after the frequency was delivered, he felt the heat of a large servo against one of his upper shoulder connectors. It was brutish and sharp as the blunt but heavy digits dug into ligaments and wires. The mystery mech pulled fiercely at his forearm as well as upper arm connector tissues. There was a creak. It all happened in a nanoclick. Smokescreen aimed to incapacitate the spy as he was held by the larger mech, but the assassin was not an easy catch. Soundwave narrowly avoided the racer’s servos by throwing his frame to the side forcefully enough the move the grip on him, but not quite shake it. The ligaments in his contained shoulder stretched.

Knock Out had watched slack-jawed until things started to get a little too physical for his taste. He saw the recognition of Soundwave’s heat in the Autobot medic’s optics, and with the way things were progressing…well, he couldn’t just sit back and watch. The telepath’s systems were focused on getting him laid, not supplying his frame for battle. Soundwave kicked slammed his spinal armor back into the wrecker binding him (with a glance back he deducted it was Bulkhead), searching for liabilities in his foe with his healthy feeler…and then caught a glimpse of crimson plating in motion. Smokescreen growled.

“You smell fresh outta interface, Con—is this how you always come out to fight? Straight out of Screamer’s berth?” Smokescreen scoffed and scored a hit on Soundwave’s chassis as Bulkhead tightened his grip.

The assassin mech’s vocalizer barked out in a throaty growl at that comment. He would show the ditzy piece of scrap. What was wrong with him?! Soundwave felt his energy flit from his limbs and midriff, pooling south into the soft, engorged flesh sealed behind his panels. Behind his mask, his optics widened, and his struggles to free himself were renewed. _Disgusting_ , the spy told himself as he realized the rough treatment was leaving him aroused against his will. His spark fluctuated, swirling in its casing at the recognition of possible suitors…

Soundwave gave up on formalities and instead writhed desperately to free himself from the green brute’s grip. He didn’t notice the Knock Out transform into bipedal mode and all but throw himself into Smokescreen. The two tumbled, kicking up dust, gritting out expletives at one another. Knock Out came out on top, and shoved a dirtied pede into Smokecreen’s chassis as he planted a shock-stick amped up to full power into his side plating. There was a gurgled yell as Smokescreen succumbed to the medic’s weapon of choice.

Knock Out righted himself to make his way back to Soundwave. He watched as the assassin mech shoved at Bulkhead, who had no qualms about keeping his servos to himself. Soundwave forcefully pushed, clawed, even resorted to his feelers to attempt to deter the other bot to no avail. He observed in horror as the green brute pulled back that enormous weapon that lie where his servo should be—and released it. The impending, hulking weapon connected with the side of the Communications Officer’s helm and neck with a sickening ‘crunch.’ Something strikingly similar to a yelp left the telepath’s vocalizer as he was impacted by the gravity of that hit. The doctor’s optics widened in horror.

_No…_

The medic’s optics narrowed as he witnessed Soundwave’s frame go lax in Bulkhead’s grip. Fury and disbelief blinded any reason that would have stopped the medic at this point. A sneer itched at his dermas.

“Bad choice…I’d say this marked the moment you walk away, son-of-a-glitch, before I take that pretty yellow scout and decorate my office with his dismembered frame.” Knock Out’s pupils narrowed down to mean little pinpoints, and his upper derma lifted. He thrusted the sparking end of his shock stick out towards the green wrecker. “What do you say?”

“I say you’ve got big mouth, medic. You’re only one mech.”

“And you’re an insignificant waste of fuel. What’s your soft Prime say about downed mechs? My superior is not fighting back, and unless you want a prisoner exchange, you are going to move the _frag_ out of my way.”

“Bulkhead! We need to transport Bee and Smokescreen back to base NOW! No prisoners, no more of this—that’s an order from Prime!” Ratchet barked out, gathering the yellow scout and giving Bulkhead a glare fit to kill. The green bot relented. Soundwave dropped to the ground in a heap.

The doctor ran towards the mech on the ground. The bastard had just discarded the Soundwave as though he was scrap! It pained Knock Out to witness the deputy in this position. _You fool_ , he thought in absolute terror, _what made you do this? Why? Why didn’t you think this through or…or secure more backup for yourself? You’re supposed to be the impeccable one!_ The cherry medic knelt down next to his superior and cradled his dented helm. The poor mech’s visor was cracked on the side of impact and there were internal wounds—he could tell by the rivulets of energon that escaped through split seams. Soundwave emitted a low groan that ended in a higher frequency.

He was conscious.

Knock Out eyed the green brute with contempt as the temporary standstill commenced. He felt the spy twitch in his servos. His spark stirred at the small hums that came from Soundwave as he vented erratically, most likely stunned beyond belief that he had been sacked so easily. They were unfamiliar vocalizations to the medic. He had heard snippets of the telepath’s voice before, but nothing akin to this. He had never heard anything so spark wrenching from Soundwave…it reflected searing pain even as quiet as the sounds were. The dim glow was visible through the webbing of cracks in the visor.

A servo brushed against his plating weakly, searching for consolation possibly? The doctor bit his lower derma in his anxious state. Where was the Primus fragging ground bridge?!

“You are going to be fine, Soundwave, you are in very good servos. Breakdown and I are going to take care of you when you get back to the ship,” Knock Out said. “You are doing so well and soon you’ll be back—just stay awake for me? Don’t go into recharge, officer.”

After what seemed like years to the a-little-more-than-panicking medic, the green vortex swirled to life in front of them. Knock Out sighed his relief and hefted the assassin up from the ground and rested the wounded mech’s helm into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He hurriedly crossed the unit of transportation and thanked Primus as his pedes made contact with the floors of the Nemesis. Time was slipping from away from his servos.

Each fall of his pedes was an echo, a tick of a bomb that he was hopeless to disengage. Eradicons saw the exasperated doctor pass by but they were too stunned to offer assistance. When had any Con witnessed the ex-gladiator in such a state?

When he entered the Med Bay, Breakdown was there to help him ease the Communication’s Officer’s coolant covered frame onto the medical berth. Laserbeak squealed in horror from her side of the room. The cassette was beside herself with fear. Her host had always severed their connections when he went out alone to save her the pain he himself felt. She had never witnessed her master like _this_ before…she clicked to him, a series of beeps and desperate whirs came from her vocalizing systems. She tried to pry into the connection herself. It was hopeless.


	4. If You Please

Starscream sauntered down the hallway into the Communications Center. His servos rested behind his back. The twitches of his wings expressed his unease. He half expected to see his deputy back at his station—but his nonchalant demeanor cracked when he saw the eradicon commander still situated at the console. A scowl pulled at his dermas as he made his way over to the unsuspecting soldier. Other eradicons chattered quietly. The winglord did not cease to notice the terse and rather anxious EM fields around him. It made his own plating bristle. He demanded an explanation.

“You there,” he addressed the one at his second’s station, pointing in the jumpy soldier’s direction. “Where is Officer Soundwave?” The drone shifted slightly in his stance, clearly hesitating. Starscream didn’t have time for this. The Commander’s patience was running thin. “Keep me waiting and you’ll regret it, so help me…”

“Officer Soundwave is currently in the Medical Bay. Knock Out was seen carrying him in, Lord Starscream.” The eradicon reported without taking a vent in between. Starscream’s vents nearly stalled.

“That can’t be right…if this is some sort of rumor passed around—”

“Negative, sir!”

This was all wrong—some sort of sick joke, right? _Right_? Of course it was, frag, Soundwave could hold his own, he always had (but he hadn’t been so impulsive before either). Why couldn’t he place the spy’s EM field when he arrived back on the ship?! The seeker ground his dentae together, leaving his drone armada stunned as he departed in a hurry.

_Primus damn it, Soundwave, you absolute fool! What have you done?_ He would give his second in command a taste of how “logical” he thought his plan was once he got to him. Why hadn’t Soundwave informed him prior? If the spy would have taken backup, if he had just taken simple measures to ascertain his own safety out there… _Slag it all!_ It couldn’t be as bad as he suspected…the drone had frozen up because it was a common occurrence—all of the drones were a little glitched in the processor. It was just a little slip up, a moment of stupidity.

The seeker’s focus to narrow onto one thing that mattered…the black plated frame sprawled out on the medical berth. The violet trim lights were dimmed, a few burnt out from exertion.

_Soundwave!_

The seeker snapped. He tore his way over to his lieutenant, and all but choked on his own vocalizer in shock. He was unconscious? He was…his optics roamed across his deputy’s helm and couldn’t withhold the horrified gasp that escaped his vocalizer. His helm. Those beautiful points that rose from his helm that resided on the side of the injury wilted. Crushed, as if they were tin rather than the reinforced metal they were constructed out of. The telepath’s visor was cracked. Buckled on one side, rather. Starscream didn’t realize that his own armor flaring, quivering in his growing rage. Whoever did this—whoever DARED to touch his lieutenant, he would offline them! Make them suffer, make them wish they had never been sparked…

“Commander Starscream—” the medic approached, but the seeker was too far gone to care about the excuses Knock Out had to offer now. Fury boiled in the commander’s fuel tanks. He looked up at the doctor and pinned him with a caustic glare.

“What in the Pits happened, Knock Out?!” The leader’s wings hiked up high on his back plates, ramrod straight and poised. His stance was feral to match. There was a glint of absolute vicious intent in the hot coals of optics. “What in Primus’ name led to this? If you don’t speak right now, I will lose it, I am THIS close to losing it with you!” The wings angled back, along with the jet’s upper derma as he released his pent up anger. “Tell me!”

“I was his partner—I was unaware that you were uninformed or else I would have called it off! We were severely unprepared and by the time I was able to contribute, Soundwave was injured,” the medic adjusted his stance, running his sharp digits across a line that fed into the telepath’s chassis. “There were too many mechs against us, Commander. I am trying to heal him as fast as I can. My priority is his comfort.” 

The said commander had his claws on his helm in an instant. He growled, trailing off into a pointed yell. Knock Out flinched, and from somewhere in the back of the quarters, Breakdown dropped a tray of tools. The tension was not broken even with the clatter. Starscream was beside himself with fury. He wanted the morning hours back. He wanted to lead the Communications Officer back into his own quarters before he went to address the problem. Before he went and did something incredibly stupid, and added to the already bad situation. He wished he had pulled the spy back into the berth and nuzzled into his neck wiring and whispered meaningless comforts to Soundwave. He shouldn’t have made such a big deal earlier. Soundwave did do much already, and now the mech was holed up in here, his helm damaged…

_His processor,_ was the foremost thought that gnawed at the seeker’s spark ruthlessly, _that mind that you haven’t even gotten a glimpse of yet…_

The consequences of this outing could leave his lieutenant impaired irreparably. He wouldn’t settle for an ‘oops’ and ‘it wasn’t my fault’. He put faith in Soundwave to watch over his patients. This wasn’t acceptable. Soundwave was a mech he would and could not consider losing.

Starscream sucked in a weary vent and grit his denta together as he struggled to retain some sort of composure. “Diagnosis. What is wrong, and to what extent,” he spat through his clenched jaws. He glanced at the two mechs in question. Breakdown, having just arrived on the scene, was clueless on how to respond. The seeker’s patience, however, was nonexistent.

Knock Out was quick to respond. “Undetermined processor trauma, as well as data cable damage. He will need to have the cable head reconstructed through surgery later on. His CPU is my main focus at present.” The composure wasn’t held long. Starscream’s ounce of confidence in himself to restrain his anger and concern was gone.

“Doctor. I am the _leader_ of this Primus forsaken army. Did it just slip your processor that Soundwave was not in the right mind? Or that maybe I would like to be informed that there was a plan to intercept the enemy after I explicitly expressed my intentions to keep my deputy in my care?! You should have notified back up at the very least! Shockwave makes sure that we have AMPLE troops for this kind of work, that is their fragging purpose!” The commander waved his servos erratically through the air, his expression contorted in his fresh wave of anger.

Knock Out meant to say something—say anything to console his distraught leader, he really did, but his glossa instead lie heavy in his mouth. He was at a loss for words. Intense anxiety rolled off of the seeker’s frame. It was thick and panicky and prickly. It affected the doctor who hovered close to the still frame on his operating berth.

“You said anything he needed, Knock Out…you were supposed to watch out for him, that’s what medics do, scrap it all…” the seeker bristled, and abruptly slammed his servo into the counter closest to him. Breakdown flinched at the suddenness of the action. A deep, guttural growl escaped the flier’s vocalizer. He turned back around to face the two medical cons and clenched his servos into fists. “He wasn’t thinking straight. Why the frag didn’t you contact me? Answer me.” Starscream’s optical ridges furrowed, the fight seeping from his frame gradually.

“I…” Knock Out opened his mouth, but nothing came out with the weight that suddenly rested on his spark. He didn’t have a retort to combat the seeker because he spoke truth. There was nothing he had said that wasn’t applicable to all that had happened. He was ultimately at fault. His digits were unsteady for once in his life as he checked the wires that snaked in and under Soundwave’s arm plating. “I don’t know…”

“That is not good enough.” The seeker hissed, optics aflame with contempt. “You failed in your duties of safety—”

“I am aware! Frag, I am aware of my shortcomings, and I will fix them!” Knock Out bit out, glaring right back. “If you will let me, that is. I understand, tell me things I have already heard, Lord Starscream, and it will slow down the process of healing.” Terse silence reigned for a moment, the only sound noticeable was the hushed whir of the medical bay machinery at work. “Soundwave will heal under my care.”

“He is not expendable.”

“Far from it. He is crucial to the cause.” Breakdown chimed in, softly, as though raising his voice above where it was at would set their leader off again. Starscream’s dermas angled further downward.

“You will heal him…” the seeker’s voice turned terse and became gradually quieter, and less grating. Less vicious, and more broken up. There were undertones that led a mech to believe that the seeker was hurt. Deeply, at that.

“Of course. That is what I do,” the medic tried his best to console the winglord, but it did nothing now. In this situation, even he was at a loss for the proper reaction. He struggled to keep it strictly professional in his own demeanor. Starscream’s wings fell from their high positon. Everything about the seeker expressed his discontent. It was something to witness for the doctor and his assistant when Starscream turned on his heel and departed without anything more to say.

~

It was quiet save for that insistent drip in the corner of his chambers. Save for the strong scent of energon tainting the air, save for the fact that his vents were cycling on high…heavily…Primus was he venting so hard? His helm turned to try and adjust his optics onto something. Anything. He attempted to move his servos from the berth surface but to no avail—they were held fast. This was the first observation that led him to believe that something was wrong. The telepath arched his coolant stained chassis as he struggled to release his servos from unforgiving restraints. He felt uncomfortable, wracked with too many sensations in his heaving, glistening chassis. Chills riddled his frame, yet he was clammy. His sensornet must have been malfunctioning…

The room spun and twisted as he turned his helm once more to observe the quarters…were they his quarters? _Where…_ His vents caught as realization slammed into him. He panted out into the dry air with his effort to shake the restraints. Never had he been so unsure, so utterly helpless as this moment, in which his energy was nonexistent—where had it all gone? He groaned in discomfort and focused on renewing his struggles. He had to find his vocals. Everything seemed disconnected—the walls swirled in their own twisted and surreal way, merging and flowing like some viscous material. He felt as if his frame belonged to another mech. It wouldn’t obey him, his processor was useless as he tried to control his weak frame. And there was a burning heat somewhere he would rather not focus on…not now…

_Megatronus…where…? Need you…_

A shadow loomed close by. The spy’s optic’s locked onto the tall silhouette. He knew that frame—he knew it well enough. Soundwave’s vocals hitched as he observed the fellow gladiator standing above him. He looked for validation in the golden optics—something to console himself, reassure the notion that what he suspected was about to take place was irrational. Everything was blurry.

“Megatronus…?” Soundwave’s vocalizer pierced the air with frightening frailty. Static bleated from his unsteady vocalizer.

“I thought that it would be only righteous to treat you, friend. After all, what other mech would give you any sympathy? I can smell it on you,” the baritone voice hummed. “It’s sweet…too good for the other mechs…I will be gentle with you, see? Your friend wouldn’t know how to frag morally if it hit him in the faceplates.”

Soundwave shook his helm and watched the walls move in erratic patterns. They wove and twisted and turned in on themselves. He felt coolant burn his optics as his fuel tanks rolled. Churned. He whined lowly and tugged again at the restraints.

“No: negative. Need Megatronus: please…p-please: listen…don’t want…” his words came out slurred and unsteady. Why wouldn’t the mech listen to him? What had he done to him?

“No no no, shhh, I’ll treat you well,” a servo grazed the spy’s burning cheekplate, and heated breath lapped at his finials. The space between his thighs grew tender at the affections, and Soundwave moaned in helplessness, his servos clenching in agitation. Dermas pressed against a finial, and his moan turned into a keen in an instant, the sound strained as it exited his vocalizer. He released a lowly whine as he felt searing heat pool in his lower regions. It had been building since he had come out of that restless recharge, only growing in intensity.

The mech rumbled deep within his throat, and the spy felt servos on his thighs. His fuel tanks lurched. He would have shied away. He would have lashed out, would have torn the gladiator a new one in his disappointment, in his fear, in his denial of betrayal. “Relax…” the silhouette leaned into him. The heat responded with vigor, lapping at his interface panels. Hatred seared the telepath’s spark as he caught onto the chuckle that escaped the offender’s dermas. He dared to laugh at him…he _dared _.__

He hissed. He tried to kick out but his legs were heavy. It didn’t hurt, no, it was all wrong. It sent surges of pleasure through his frame, up and down his spinal plating…he couldn’t enjoy this. He just couldn’t…he bit down on his glossa. Those digits multiplied. They curled inside of him, stroked languidly, moved in scissoring motions to seek out sensitive hideaway nodes that hadn’t been touched in a long while. He cried out against his will. He desired a form of respite. He required some way to claw at the mech between his thighs rather than need to pull him in closer so that he could feel each and every movement of those digits. He panted, and restrained his vocals. He tasted energon on his dermas. Sickly sweet, it pooled over his glossa.

“You did not want this…” the mech huskily muttered before there was a slam that rocked the structure of the room. Everything turned tense, and the digits no longer squirmed in his fluctuating passage. Soundwave groaned out, loathing and a growing desire for vengeance slithering into his spark. His frame was so sensitive that in a way it hurt. His interface array burned with the absence of touch and it disgusted the spy. He wanted to disappear.

“You are the epitome of scum, and will likewise die as such,” vocals blared through the enclosed space. “You will be absent of both your dignity and spike once I am done painting your quarters with your energon.”

And the silence broke to give way to tumultuous screams and slews of curses, thunderous impacts, and metal bending in ways that made it screech right before it severed. Soundwave’s chassis rose and fell, rose and fell, his audials tuned into the ruckus and chaos that ensued, and behind his mask he licked his dermas. His chin was bloodied, and for all he cared the mech was off and out of him. He hoped to Primus it was Megatron (and simultaneously that it wasn’t, considering his sorry state), for the sake of not having this experience prolong itself. When the sounds simmered down, Soundwave waited. A tall, wide-shouldered silhouette filled his view.

“My friend…” Megatronus began as he got to work, releasing the bindings from the spy’s sore wrists, and lifted Soundwave from the berth. “I will help you…I won’t let those **heathens** around you again…” the gladiator’s vocals were edged with malice, his servos still shaking from the recent fight. Soundwave allowed his helm to fall forward...

At least he wasn’t alone…

His optics opened to a pit with dust billowing up in thick clouds from the tousled ground. He glared at his opponent. Coolant dripped copiously from his plating. To say it was hot in the ring was an understatement. It never phased him. His opponent was a good distance away. He had just swiped out at the mech. It was a lucky hit, drawing energon. It trickled down the contours of his plating, steadily.

It was his luck he had to destroy this mech. He didn’t want to (who really did?). But pit code prevailed—it was either he would come out on top or the other fighter would. It was clear and to the cut. He drew his thoughts away from who he was fighting, who he was essentially offlining, and recalled what his comrade once told him about closing off feelings. _Desensitization_ , they said, would help him kill without experiencing night cycles without recharge afterwards. He would go after this and share energon with Megatronus. Yes, that sounded good. The warbot would understand his turmoil and they’d laugh about it later. Talk about inconsequential sparklinghood trials and tribulations, about carriers that didn’t give a scrap, and the reasons they were condemned eternally to the Pits of Kaon. It was good to laugh, even if it was forced at times. It felt good to have someone who would listen.

He clashed with his opponent as he sprung from his side of the arena, sickled-digits poised to tear plating from mesh. He knew Megatronus was watching him from a screen somewhere, in the relaxation chambers possibly or from a hall monitoring station’s video feed. It gave him comfort to know that he had support somewhere. He wouldn’t disappoint the audiences. He would not disappoint Megatronus.

Soundwave grappled for the mech’s vital wires and avoided the rather large blade that adorned the servo of the other. It was the lance of adrenaline as digits dug harshly into seams, feral vocalizations as Soundwave hit points in the mech’s frame that would bring him down the fastest—in the most painless way possible. There were no words that needed to be exchanged—they weren’t necessary. It was a flurry of heat, vents, and spilt energon. The spy dug his knee into the abdominal plating of the fighter. The gladiator sputtered and caught himself before he succumbed fully to the blow. The assassin’s feelers were upon him, searching his frame desperately, prying, and proving invasive. They were a very real threat and could easily be potential demise of the mech. Soundwave was not intending to be unnecessarily cruel to this opponent. He tried to think about other things as he worked to focus his processor on the task of killing his offender.

The telepath was truly unprepared for the servo that enclosed in a vice-like clamp around his throat tubing. It was quick. It threw him off guard. The crowd cheered and roared in approval at the strange turn of events. This time, Soundwave registered the vocalizers thundering throughout the stadium. A chill ran straight up and through his spinal plating. The mech tore at his feelers but Soundwave refused to loosen them—it was his one defense against the indigo and violet accented fighter who now had the optimal position. The gladiator straightened up and he felt the rough servo tighten around the tubing of his throat. The structure creaked. Soundwave revved his vents in an attempt to distract his opponent. He kicked out at the assailant, used his feelers to tap into uncomfortable seams, dug his digits into the forearm plating of the mech. He left claw ridges in the armor. His optics focused on the other’s faceplates. There was an expression of uncertainty. He could beg, grovel, but in the end it was all the same. One mech comes out on top. He was not on top. The servo constricted further and a cable snapped. Soundwave gagged and loosened his tentacles on the other bot’s frame.

Over the echoing vocalizers of the crowd, he heard his designation on the others glossa.

“I am sorry…” the vocals of the other wavered momentarily, and past his training Soundwave looked into his opponent’s optics and saw the real mech in there. The servo-altered-sword became level with the spy’s chin. It was then forced in a downward thrust into his pliable throat cabling. The layers of protection that adorned his trachea was split. The assassin writhed in the stronghold that kept him in the ideal position to be damaged further. The blade dug deep, down into a specific compartment that flared as it was ruptured under the harsh blow. The sword twisted and dug into the vocal processors, sending energon flooding into areas it shouldn’t be. It felt like acid eating away at his upper chassis.. The telepath’s sensornet exploded in excruciating and debilitating pain.

Soundwave screamed out as the sensitive vocalizer cables and connections were severed. Fluid collected with his exclamation of the torture and it bubbled up into his intake. Bitter. Slick and scorching energon seeped from his dermas. He choked on it and felt coolant assault his optics. He still thrashed out. A simple apology wouldn’t give way to his submission. He growled out around the blade…and then winced as the sensory input flooded back to his systems. Somewhere an alarm sounded; or was it the match ringer?

When the sword retracted and the mech backed off, he was down on all fours. His mouth was open in a silent cry for reprieve. Energon pooled on the ground underneath him. He felt the crowds emotions fluctuate as he was collected by the medical team and escorted from the pit. He expected this to be the kind way to die. Maybe since he fought so well in the past they’d let him keep some dignity.

When he awoke it was to a familiar face. Megatronus sat next to his berth. He didn’t know how long the war machine had been there. But it occurred to him that he was not in the ring. He wasn’t offline. He moaned grievously at the discomfort and then reeled at the searing pain that assaulted his throat…and at the general lack of sound produced. His fellow gladiator must have caught onto his distress because in an instant the silver mech’s optics were on him. Soundwave felt along his throat and cringed at the tenderness of it. There were energon lines that came from the wound and connected to some machine in the chamber. He tried in vain to utter something, anything but all that came from his dermas was pained clicks and disrupted chirrups.

“Soundwave, you will further damage yourself,” his companion reached out to pull the telepath’s servos away from his repaired throat cabling. Soundwave obliged but didn’t discontinue his distressed, yet barely audible pleas. They were ugly sounds. He felt the warm air that cycled from his comrade’s vents and focused on that—not the fact that he could speak, couldn’t utter a syllable from his decimated vocalizer.

“My good mech, that slagger met a far worse fate than what he would have by your servo in the arena,” Megatronus growled as worked to console the confused and conflicted telepath. “It is going to be alright my friend, it will all be alright. Rest. You need it.”

No, it wouldn’t be alright. His systems flared and alerted him to the damaged component…he felt the irregular hitch and click of the mechanism that was his vocalizer. He wanted to nod and accept Megatronus’ words as truth. He wanted to be able to _tell_ his fellow mech how he felt about it all, but that was not his circumstance now. No. He was incapable of relaxing under the terms of this situation. He felt like a sparkling, unable to voice anything that was comprehensible. He was unable to find any consolation, even as his friend held his servo tightly.

He was glad for it though…glad to have a source of comfort in this downward spiral…

Glasses clinked against the surface of a table and startled him out of his dark reverie. Megatronus had four full cubes of energon. He mustered a small smile and accepted one.

He had learned he still retained a portion of his voice. His vocalizer had been worked on extensively by the gladiatorial medical staff. It had been nearly damaged beyond repair. Primus had been on his side apparently, as the surgeons had somehow conjured the parts that were necessary to bring the vocalizer back to functioning state. Well, half functioning state. It had been a long and trying process. The components of the spy’s vocalizer shifted. Clicked. Adjusted in preparation to emit a voice that was not his own.

“Thank you: Megatronus…” the assassin vocalized, nodding his helm—and then scowled. He hated the sound of it…it was broken. _Rough_. It was hideous.

“Soundwave, it will heal with time,” Megatronus tried to console him as he took a seat parallel to the spy. The telepath emitted a minute acknowledgement to his companion’s consolation. The large, silver fighter sipped at his own energon. Soundwave knew the war machine was still deeply disturbed by his “accident”. He could see it in those large crimson optics. In the way the powerful mech never seemed to leave his side. The way after every match, Megatronus would come to his quarters to check up on him. The manner that the gladiator exhibited that gained him the reputation he carried now.

The mech who had delivered the damage to Soundwave was made an example to the rest. When the blue mech had been escorted out of the arena, he had but to enter the lounge before Megatronus was on him. He, blinded by rage and out for energon, took the fighter out without much exertion at all. The others in the lounge had stayed out of the way. It was a rightful dispute.

There were no spoken morals to the pit engagements, but the mechs knew them. The way the duel had played out had left Soundwave at a loss. It had been accepted. But to take a sword to the chest and throat—that was sadistic even for the more serious gladiators. It was no new information that Megatronus considered the assassin as his close companion; so really the outcome had been expected. The silver warrior was a force to be reckoned with.

Soundwave heard the announcement blare across the speakers. It told of the next match which included Megatronus and another lesser known gladiators. The telepath glanced up at his comrade. “Soundwave: a-acknowledges. Good luck: Megatronus,” his vocals were gravelly and they strained. It pained him to speak, but what was his alternative?

Megatronus smiled at the spy as he stood from the table.


	5. Waking

He tensed. Everything was dark. He felt his processor pound and intense pain lanced through his faceplates. He felt as if the weight of the solar system rested upon his chassis. Through his lack of consciousness, he heard a familiar voice. It held a tone which spoke of fury. His spark clenched. _Starscream…?_

He searched relentlessly in the dark. His processor…oh, his processor hurt something fierce…but the seeker—where was he? Soundwave felt trapped in his frame. He needed to assure that the flier was alright. He detected a warmth that he recognized immediately as Starscream’s EM field and for once he didn’t want it gone. He wanted to keep it close, and feel it against his own, but it was dissipating. It caused him distress. He found himself in a state of dread as the familiar EM field receded and eventually became too distant to feel any longer.

He longed for it back.

~

It had been three solar cycles since the incident. Starscream had lain the small cassette back in her perch in his deputy’s chambers. The poor thing had been incredibly distressed and it had taken quite a long while to calm her down enough to depart comfortably. He had checked in upon the petite flier periodically, bringing energon and stroking the distressed cassette’s wings and mainframe like a cyberfeline until she settled. He could only imagine the fear and anxiety the flier experienced—she had an incredibly strong connection with her carrier. The telepath’s mind was a grounding source for his cassette, and not being able to feel her host was upsetting her more than the seeker knew.

“Your master is being cared for by me, little one.” He spoke softly to the cassette who had many times prove her worth in the Decepticon army as though she were a sparkling—not mocking, but gently. Comfortingly. “You will feel him yet…but until then, I will be the one waiting with you.”

The winglord was sure he would lose his every last ounce of sanity if he wasn’t updated frequently on the condition of the bedridden telepath. The seeker experienced detailed nightmares that shook him violently from the limited recharge that he was able to achieve, in which Soundwave awoke and remembered nothing of his function—the other part of night cycles were spent in anxious trepidation and dread at the possibilities of unknown damage. He found himself being drawn into processor-consuming illusions even in waking. He yearned to sit by the berthside of his lieutenant every waking moment, but the circumstances did not allow for it. He was the leader of the Decepticons, and time did not stop for one mech (even if Starscream wished it would). There were duties to be tended to, factions that required meticulous organization and detailed orders…

Knock Out would respect him as he came often to visit Soundwave. He would leave the winglord alone with Soundwave, pretending to check the dials and reorganize tools. The leader would run his servo ever so gently over the healing helm swaddled in bandages, caress his digits over the chassis of the unconscious mech, resting his spread palm against the warm metal. Starscream would never tell a soul, but he reveled in feeling of the flitting spark ember beneath that responded to his touch. His own spark twisted in its chamber as his thoughts dragged him down into the darker recesses of Primus damning doubt.

_I can’t do this now._ He would be back to check up on the spy in another megacycle. He despised himself for leaving, for being weak even now as the leader of an army. Reluctantly, he had left to get fresh air. His lieutenant would be there when he returned and he would sit with him until evening energon rations were processed, and return after with another glass just in case the telepath stirred.

Perhaps this cycle he would.

The air on the roof top of the Nemesis was crisp, and the clouds overhead shielded the shell of the Nemesis from heat of the nearest star. The weather had gotten considerably cooler. The wind caressed his armor in a way that he hadn’t felt since his deputy’s injury. He refused to leave the premises of the ship. The seeker needed to clear his helm, although flying was not something he indulged in at the moment. He insistently reminded himself that when the spy came online, he needed to work _with_ his deputy rather than expect the overtaxed Communications Officer to take everything under his wing. It was an assumption of the past that had carried over into the present that Soundwave was capable of anything (which he had loathed the mech for when Megatron still ruled). Soundwave used to be the grounding force of the Decepticon forces, but the telepath had changed considerably (especially since his heat had begun). Starscream knew the bare minimum of Soundwave’s past. He had never cared to know more than what was necessary to gain the upper servo before. But now, it was all different. He had accepted that in some strange sense, he cared for Soundwave. It was a surreal epiphany if he had ever had one, and he wasn’t sure how it felt yet. It was a hefty realization. He vented the cool air contemplatively and flicked his wings against the oncoming stream of wind. Anxiety plagued him.

After standing for some time alone on the upper decks listening to the howl of the winds, the largest star had begun to dip below the planet’s horizon. He hadn’t expected the urgent comm frequency to chime in his processor. He tensed and opened the vocal feed with no hesitation.

Knock Out: /Lord Starscream, Soundwave is awake. He is asking to see you./

The seeker’s spark about burst in his chassis. He gasped and refocused his optics. He was at a loss for words, for rational thinking, for anything other than to move his pedes in the direction that would take him quickly to the Medical Bay. He all but ran down the corridors. He had tunnel vision at this point. Soundwave was awake.

_Primus, he’s awake…_

He felt the telepath’s EM field clearly. It was expressive and heavy and _tangible_ —there was no mistaking the warmth that was Soundwave’s live and fluctuating EM field. The winglord strode into the chamber and caught sight of his injured lieutenant debating with Knock Out, and trying find a way to evade the doctor’s adamant requests to remain in the berth. When the assassin caught sight of his lord, he released a series of clicks before reaching out to him with his EM field and the one servo that was free of medical wiring. Starscream moved in to meet the spy. He didn’t know how to accept Soundwave’s want for touch. The telepath gave him little say as he was pulled in close. The assassin rested his helm against the seeker’s chassis, and warmth bloomed under the seeker’s chassis armor.

Soundwave listened to the steady, if not a little rushed, thrum of his lord’s spark, and felt the winglord’s conflicting emotions as his own. He immersed himself into the worries that were the seeker’s own, the constant dread that plagued the Starscream’s overtaxed systems—all because of _him_. His leader held him close. Soundwave felt guilt creep into his processor as he recognized genuine emotion tainting Starscream’s EM field. The weight of his commander’s inner turmoil enveloped him completely. He nestled into the chassis of the mech who he had feared was out of his reach, and he couldn’t be more thankful to be out of his own healing processor. The memories that plagued him were put to rest.

The seeker dipped his helm to rest his forehelm against the telepath’s.

“Soundwave…” Starscream’s vocalizer was soft, but stern as he addressed his second. “You left without my consent. You went against protocols,” the seeker took a deep invent. “You caused upset on the Nemesis like it has never seen before.” The flier ran gentle servos over Soundwave’s helm, even as the spy flinched at his words, and down the chest plating to settle on his lieutenant’s waist. His servos soothingly stroked up and down the telepath’s sides.

Soundwave’s quivering digits curiously roved over his jaw, soft and sweet. It reminded him of a sparkling who was trying hard to avoid punishment. Soundwave was sorry. He was so very sorry. He had never seen Starscream’s demeanor alter so drastically. Never had the flier been so obviously distraught in Soundwave’s experience. 

“Soundwave: is foolish…cannot handle heat on own. Cannot handle energon project: alone…understands if trust is lost.” Soundwave vocalized softly. His processor ached. His optics readjusted to more accurately take in the face plates of his lord. He didn’t want him to leave…he did not want his new, previously loathed leader to despise him now that he found solace in him. Soundwave was not good with words. They evaded him always, and stayed just far enough away that they were an inconvenience to use to convey his thoughts. The spy stroked with the back of his servo down his lord’s throat cabling. “Please: will Starscream stay? Say more to give an idea of what is going on: inside Starscream’s CPU…” Soundwave realized his folly a little too late as he reconsidered his request. His leader would need adequate recharge and time to pick up the pieces of the previously failed mission. Soundwave was the reason for the fallout of everything. He wasn’t a helpless sparkling, he needed to pick himself up and hold it together. It really was his own fault that he was so badly damaged, yet his spark contracted painfully at the thought. “…is that possible?” He queried.

“You will come as soon as soon as our doctor gives you permission,” Starscream traced along the telepath’s jawline. His spark thrummed in unrestrained and raw emotion, but he meant to keep his demeanor trained. “It is something of the past. We will plan accordingly together next time a call for action comes around.” He delivered a kiss to Soundwave’s neck, to which the assassin’s frame responded by trembling. “And yes, I will stay with you. Just…sit down. Primus, mech, your helm doesn’t need to be put into vulnerable positions so soon!”

The telepath refused to heed Starscream’s command and instead buried his face into the seeker’s chassis. His faceplates were hot and his optics burned. He recalled the feeling from when he was a youngling, yet…it was in many ways different. There was a marvelous sensation ablaze in his chassis. It was blissful yet torturous. Starscream’s digits rubbed his back and neck cords like…

“Are you even listening to me? I’m not finished with you yet—do you know what this did to _me_? Do you?” The seeker’s wings flicked half in irritation and half in pleased perplexity. The telepath had never been this tactile before (without his influencing it, that is). “I thought—”

The spy swallowed around the forming knot in his throat—like a mate. A _lover _. His dermas trembled. He had never felt this way with another mech. He had given a label to his new leader that made shame flood his systems now. He had never wrongly accused any mech before as severely as he did the winglord.__

“Chhhzzt…yes…u-understands…” Soundwave’s vocalizer fretted, an uncharacteristic tremble making itself known. The winglord softened his tone at that, realizing his point had been expressed. The spy had gone through a lot. The seeker sighed. _Way to go and screw things up, stupid,_ he chided himself mentally, and pressed a chaste kiss the top of his deputy’s helm, avoiding the reconstructed finials.

“Soundwave…” Starscream found himself sympathizing with his second as the spy’s frame shook. “It’s alright…come here.” The seeker situated himself so that he sat on the medical berth with his deputy. The assassin released a sound that resembled a low whine. It was pitiful and caused the seeker’s spark casing to clench in sympathy.

“Why?” the telepath’s vocalizer wavered as he invented deeply inquired, his tone pathetically wavering. “Soundwave: has wronged…potentially destroyed all that has been built up.” 

The telepath’s helm was nestled into the flier’s neck. Starscream held him close. His second needed his reassurance. It was the seeker’s responsibility to provide a safe haven for the Communication’s Officer if nothing else.

“Shh, Soundwave, listen. It was the heat…I was harsher than I meant to be, I realize, but I do not blame you,” he brushed his dermas across the top of the telepath’s helm. He traced the signature spikes that rose off of the telepath’s helm. To see his deputy this way was something that he wanted to avoid in the future. As the leader of the Decepticons, he would have to adapt a new mindset. Soundwave fell out of rhythm, as they all had when Megatron had fell from power. It was a blow to the spy, and as he had begun to realize, it was deeply rooted into his systems. It would not change overnight.

“I’ll take care of you, if you will let me,” the seeker hummed. “You are not alone..."


	6. Continuum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Miscommunication at its finest*

_Three orbital cycles later_

Soundwave had established coordinates from dedicated time and research on areas that bore just enough energon to achieve personal benefits and possibly a little over. He worked a good week and a half to coordinate alongside Shockwave, who had miraculously established communication with the Nemesis after his prolonged absence. The scientist had come to the conclusion that even in the new hierarchy of the Decepticon army, he would still remain loyal to the cause. Soundwave appreciated the leverage it gave the operation as well as hearing the vocalizer of a mech that had been gone for many orbital cycles.

So far the project bred satisfying results. Soundwave updated Starscream daily on the amount of energon harvested and each day the seeker was satisfied. The spy worked to prove himself a valuable officer to stand next to the Starscream. As much as he wanted to avoid admitting it to himself, he had grown fond of the seeker…possibly too fond. He also deducted that his heat cycle must have fried his neural circuits, because he planned on doing something he’d once considered highly irrational and pointless. He wanted to redeem himself in his lord’s optics. It was unfair to a leader to have officers that were unreliable. Soundwave finished his duties in a timely manner, and attached the encrypted file to send through an anonymous feed he had made sure to keep discreet, giving the line to Shockwave only. He sent it off to his coworker as soon as he scanned the file thoroughly for glitches or potential breaks in the patterns of glyphs.

His helm still pained him occasionally after long cycles at his station. His systems were on overdrive as he contemplated the next best area to land a mining operation, the number of factions it would take to execute two operations at once, the location of Shockwave’s laboratory currently. There was a lot to consider.

It was late. Every mech on the ship had most likely retired for the night, save for the spy. He walked on towards his lord’s chambers. His plating flared slightly as he requested access to the seeker’s room. Soundwave found his leader with his servos crossed behind his back, facing away from him. He gazed out of the large bay window that provided a view of the many distant suns and galaxies that splayed out across the night skies. The assassin walked up beside his lord and allowed his EM field to brush up against the flier’s unobtrusively. He dipped his helm slightly before he spoke.

“Operation: is successful this cycle. Increase of 45% in extraction,” Soundwave vocalized evenly as his frame would allow him. A hint of a smile crept into Starscream’s dermas. He glanced minutely at his telepath and pondered.

“Excellent, Soundwave,” Starscream rumbled. He unclasped his servos from behind his back struts and turned to face his deputy. “I suspect you came here for more than simply to update me on operation reports? If not, then tell me so, but…” the seeker wound his arms around Soundwave’s torso and whispered against his audial, “May I?”

The spy could not contain the wave of heat that flushed through his sensornet. _Yes_ , he responded, voice laced with lust, _please do_. He wasn’t afraid to express his want for the flier now. It was a selfish sort of emotion that Soundwave had never really come to know, yet it drove him to insistently crave Starscream’s attentions. Often. Soundwave’s digits curled around the clips securing his mask, and opened the one by one, setting it aside.

The first time Starscream had seen the telepath’s face, he regretted his past vehemently. Soundwave was delicately handsome, his features soft yet his optics intense in their placement and hue. They were a mixture between blue and violet, a concoction of duo-tone radiance. A Decepticon with such eyes was a rare find, and Starscream realized this shade was even more so. ‘Beautiful’ he had whispered breathlessly that first time, turning the spy’s helm this way and that, loving the soft metal skin against his digits and the cobalt blush spreading across exposed faceplates. The seeker had kissed him until the assassin gasped for air, the flesh of his dermas darkening with the rest of his complexion.

A bit like he was doing now.

“Soundwave…nmmm…requesting…” he almost lost the question in the connection of their dermas, glossas tangled together time and time again, “…an evening with Starscream.” The seeker smiled. He pressed his heated chassis flush against Soundwave’s own, and reconnected their mouths. The spy could have melted into him there and then. His lieutenant was an absolutely precious, Starscream decided as the mech moaned beautifully into their kiss. There was no denying that he had been so blind before, so utterly blind to have missed this…

“And how could I ever deny you?” He disconnected from the assassin’s plump dermas after catching the bottom one firmly in his dentae and pulling away. Soundwave squeaked. The winglord brushed a digit over the telepath’s dermas. He rubbed up and down the officer’s sides and vented heated breath into his neck cables. Soundwave’s glossa tentatively lapped at the digit that teased along his mouth. He began to suck softly at them. “Beautiful, Soundwave…”

The telepath moaned. Those words were never used together in his experience, but hearing them was divine. He didn’t mind the distant ache in his helm. He needed the frame of the seeker pressed against him. He had forced the thought from his processor earlier, but now…now he had his leader all to himself. Lubricants began to build behind his interface paneling. He whirred in contentment as Starscream pulled his hips flush with his own and ground against his sensitive panel. He moved to press his dermas against the winglord’s. He licked at Starscream’s dermas. His optics shuttered as the seeker deepened the kiss. Heat rolled off of the mechs in waves. Soundwave cupped the flier’s face with delicate servos. _Please…_

“Hmmm…mmm…the cycle was way too long for my liking,” Starscream ravished the telepath in kisses and nipped along the ghosts of bruises that ran along the second in command’s neck cabling faceplates. The telepath focused on nuzzling the seeker’s cheek, lapping at the sharp contours of his leader’s jaw. p >

The spy’s spark clenched—it was a sort of ache that he had been attempting to ignore to no avail. He whined lowly as his lover invaded his space (which was more than welcome if he would just keep doing those things to him). He took one of the seeker’s servos in his own and pressed it to his chassis. The flier paused momentarily to observe the flicker and pull of the fluttering spark within his Soundwave’s chassis. It was alluring. He locked optics with his deputy, and wondered what the spy was getting at (and wondering simultaneously if he really desired to know).

“Spark aches…” Soundwave panted, lips parted. He leaned into the seeker’s chassis for comfort. It felt different than before. He wanted the flier’s servo against his spark casing—no, he wanted those servos caressing the most sensitive innermost core of his actual spark. “Starscream will look? Assess condition? Please?” The spy vented heavily and held onto his berthmate’s clawed servo. His spark twisted and pressed insistently against his plating. It itched for contact.

“Yes, of course…sit down sweet…” Starscream spoke worriedly as he led his second to sit on the berth. The dark-plated mech was preoccupied by the discomfort of his innermost spark, scratching at his chassis, tugging at the seams. Soundwave became perturbed at the discomfort and emitted a huff in response. The seeker took the assassin’s servos in his own and pecked his puffy dermas. “Hush now, and open up.” He rubbed the servos to calm the telepath, tracing patterns with his thumb over the clammy metal. The spy was running increasingly hot.

There was a subtle click as the telepath’s chassis plates retracted and folded in and other one another—it was the reversal of an intricately layered lock. Lavender blue light leaked from the gradually receding metal shielding. It was the life essence of the assassin, pure and unbridled. Soundwave’s vents hitched. He latched onto the seeker’s forearms as his dermas parted in a silent, sharp gasp. His spark felt as though it were being stretched thin—it urged him to gather his leader to him and indulge in the feeling of his chassis against his life source, right against his naked spark…

“Spectacular,” the winglord voiced, almost lost for words at the intricacy of the pulsing, restless energy in front of him. It was second nature to open his own chassis to reveal his spark at such a vulnerable action…almost. He overrode the reaction manually. Soundwave’s spark appeared healthy as ever, only strained (swollen, if it could be called that). He brushed near Soundwave’s exposed spark with feather-light digits.

It created a powerful surge of sensation for the receiver. He recognized the feeling as a very real, very intense version of the flitting emotions he caught in the reflections from other fighter’s processors in Kaon. He had identified the differences in these mechs. It was laced deeply into their energy fields. It was a despairing aura that clung to them as they suffered without the company of their mates. In some other time, some separate life, they had these same feelings and had presented themselves to a significant other. Their sparks had been bonded with a mech in another place; a safer one…as they perished in the gladiatorial pits, there was said to be tangible grief as another mech mourned their loss...

“Star-Starscream!” the spy shivered. He tensed as he pulled the flier’s frame closer to him. _Need it…need my good Starscream._ Soundwave longed to press his chassis into his lord’s own until he felt it burn him, until it ached instead of this Primus damned, insatiable itch. Starscream felt his own overrides falter slightly at the display. He watched Soundwave’s faceplates contort in pained-pleasure as he brushed against him. It wasn’t right, the commander’s CPU alerted him, yet he had yet to resist as his partner pulled him in closer, and all but begged for him to touch.

“Soundwave requesting…Starscream touch s-spark,” the telepath stuttered a pleading whine, and if it was physically possible, heated up further. He pressed himself up against his leader, sensually grinding and all but mashing his exposed ember into the winglord’s chassis armor. The spark fluctuated at the contact, pulsing pleasurably as it had something to work with now (not that damnable lack of contact).

Starscream wrenched from the telepath’s grip, ending the euphoric sensations warming Soundwave’s frame as well as the significant moment. The spy was stunned to say the least (a drastic understatement), and as he had never had time to train his expressions very well, his brows narrowed and his plush dermas pulled into a grimace. That paired with the fact that his naked spark was still swollen, and the throb in his valve had not let up, Soundwave sat on the edge of the king berth with shame tainting his energon. Embarrassment chilled his overly-excited ember nestled in his chassis, and for whatever reason the panels that he longed to shut just wouldn’t listen, hesitant to slam on the engorged and pulsating life source. Soundwave swallowed his hurt feelings long enough to search the seeker’s faceplates with glassy, inquisitive optics before he was plagued with a feeling all too familiar. He had just been _rejected_ …and truth be told, he really should have expected it, no doubt (it was bound to happen). Yet, coolant crept into his optics anyhow (where was his mask when it was truly needed?), blurring his vision and setting the spy up for an emotional fallout in front of the only mech that had mattered. 

“S-Starscream…could have requested…d-desist,” the assassin’s face took on an expression that shattered the Air Commander’s spark, turning his own expression to one of concern. Before he could rectify his carelessness, the seeker’s lover was on his pedes, headed straight for the door.

“Soundwave? Wave, baby, no, it’s not like that—” Starscream hurriedly explained, chasing the sleek obsidian backplates that retreated more quickly than he could follow. The Decepticon leader was left standing in the door, peering down an empty corridor. As the fleshies would say, he had “royally fucked up”. Starscream dragged a servo down his faceplates and thought about the consequences of his actions in their previously gradually building relationship, and how badly he had botched it up. He followed the halls to check on his telepath.


	7. The Quirks of Tampering with a Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Revelations are had*

The lighting in Shockwave’s lab was dimmed and the screens illuminated the large cavern he had taken up as his current lab residence. It had taken him a good while to establish the connections in this place, but with a little assistance, he was able to bring it around to adequate functioning. He read over the streaming reports from the Nemesis databanks and checked in on the status of the new mining operation. There was live camera footage of each chamber off of the main energon veins, the workers, around the cavern itself and of a very familiar Communications Officer. Shockwave set his half-drained container down and turned his attention fully to the telepath who had just entered the range of the camera. He observed the mech as he released a feeler and connected it to a port in the system. He opened the communication link, as if on cue.

Shockwave: /Soundwave, I have noticed some possible flaws in the workings of our project. I am requesting your presence at my laboratory. It will be beneficial to have you here to ease the flow of communication and the efficiency of the operation until systems are repaired./

Soundwave: /Flaws should be tended to immediately: Soundwave agrees. Shockwave will provide file of complications to: disclose information to Lord Starscream? Will forward to Starscream to provide: reliable excuse for absence./

Shockwave observed the drone miners with his singular, glowing optic, and contemplated. His initiatives were organized in his processor perfectly, and yet he was surprised in a way that Soundwave wasn’t curious the extent or specifics of the complications. He had always known the communications specialist to be exceedingly cautious, if not a little paranoid when it came to certain requests (especially ones such as this). He could only guess it was the changes in rule in the Decepticon ranks. After all, Soundwave had a relationship with Megatron that went back to when Iacon and Kaon still suffered under the High Council. There must be an inkling of nostalgia under his old partner’s indifferent façade. He tapped, and expanded a file to full size and began to list the potential malfunctions of the operation as he responded back via communications link.

Shockwave: /Excellent. I am currently sending over a report to verify the necessary investigation for the continuation of the project. I appreciate the compliance on short notice.

Shockwave “signed-off” of the communications link and uploaded a small list of faults that were already given potential failures, along with a few drastically stressed notes. It was not his place now to question the evolvement of this plan, as it was not his own to begin with. He completed the last string of code and sent it through to the Nemesis system’s databanks. He knew Soundwave received the file because of the way he perked up slightly on the video feed and tapped the main screen with a delicate servo.

The scientist drew his optic away from the screens before he could reconsider his options. He knew that if he looked on at his former coworker any longer he would register the guilt that plagued his processor even more than he did now.

He opened a heavily guarded communication line. He almost despised it, but he was the one to have started this. He would finish it. If he backed out, the resulting rage would come down on him in particular. His fortress had been pinpointed and now it was either cooperate or face the consequences of noncompliance. He lifted a switch.

Shockwave: /Plan is in action. Further notice will entail the requirement of pick-up, and the due delivery of promised energon and supplies. No further contact will be implemented from that point onward./

~

It had been a megacycle since the message had reached Soundwave. He felt that it was urgent enough to present it to his lord immediately. Starscream reluctantly gave consent for his lieutenant to take leave in the next few solar cycles. Maybe it would clear the air slightly. Ever since _that night_ , Soundwave had not spoken to him outside of necessary work-oriented conversing. The spy had not taken kindly to any of Starscream’s attempts to reconcile the situation by speaking to him, so the commander eventually let it go.

He had a feeling the telepath would listen eventually on his own terms, but he couldn’t shake his own emotions that were tied up in the continuing of this prolonged silent treatment. Soundwave adamantly refused to give him any acknowledgment. He missed his sly lover’s affections, and it was obvious that no matter his behavior, Soundwave was covering for his hurt (that Starscream had so carelessly inflicted). There were many other ways the situation could have been handled, the winglord realized too late. The seeker had gotten caught up in the moment, and hadn’t meant to deny his precious mech’s invitation…he just hadn’t wanted to take advantage of something so important to the spy, and reacted badly (horrendously, if he should say, considering he dwelled on it every waking moment). His CPU gave him ample reason why he should have indulged Soundwave. _He was offering himself to you_ , his processor provided caustically, “ _and you rejected it in one stupid nanoklick by thinking to ask ‘why’…_

Soundwave activated a ground bridge. He strode into the vortex of swirling light and followed it into a dimly lit chamber with low, humming undertones. The scent of chemicals hung heavily in the atmosphere. The vortex blinked out of existence.

And with it, Soundwave’s EM signature.

~

When the spy’s systems had cleared, and reset into a halfway functioning state, it had been a rude awakening. His optics filtered on, and adjusted to a strange and cold holding cell. His spark tightened in absolute horror. He frantically scanned the room, took readings that returned to his processor with flashing warnings that read ‘Denied Access’. His ventilations increased in speed even against his failsafe measures for emergency coding, and he pressed his back plates further into the corner where he resided. He had no way of addressing his current location properly. He pressed for communication lines to the Nemesis, to Starscream, to the eradicon forces, anything for Primus sakes!—but it all came back with a condemning ‘Denied’. The assassin cursed his foolishness, and swallowed the bitterness of fear that threatened to impede upon his logic-based neural connections.. He felt along the back of his neck and came upon a clamp sturdily set into the cabling; he refrained from touching it when a jolt of pain ricocheted through his spinal connectors.

It was inevitable that he should be in a situation to compromise the Decepticon cause. As he contemplated in rushed manner, he came upon the notion that it must be the Autobot base he was being held in. If nothing else, he could still detect EM fields fluctuating not far above his cell. He could get out of this—he had to. He had come so close to compromising the Decepticon cause once, he couldn’t do it again! It was the worst possible situation that could have occurred, but he had already started planning escape routes. It proved difficult without knowledge of location, or of the layout of the base. Soundwave hissed at his blatant disadvantage. It would be the ruin of everything they had worked so hard for—how could he be so careless? He had put his leader between a rock and a hard place, with no leeway whatsoever…what if the seeker caved because of him…? As much as the spy loathed to feel sympathy for the mech now, he could see the brilliant fool doing something stupid to save Soundwave.

It was something the winglord would definitely do…there was no denying that. The dark of the cell glared at Soundwave’s lone form, and the telepath stared back.

_I will take care of you, if you will let me._

_You are not alone._

The spy rubbed at his aching brow, and contemplated his thoughts, as well as the softly spoken words that refused to leave his processor. The gentle caresses over his tense shoulder cabling in the evenings the overindulgent, hovering seeker came to deliver when he remained at his post too long. The gaze on his backplates he could feel throughout the solar cycle, the small things that drew his attention away from encryptions like a fresh cube of energon on the console…

Soundwave’s vents stuttered in despair at his situation.

He didn’t know how long he sat down there in the dark—he was thankful though that no mech had shown up yet. He had time to think, and to process what to do with all of the shortcomings that bombarded his CPU. The spy was aware that it could have been multiple solar cycles that he was down here. His tanks were low, and there were reminders in his helm every passing megacycle. He had started to drift off when a very subtle sensation distracted him from his inner turmoil. Along the inner lining of his abdominal plating, something feather-light caressed. It startled him to attention, and he clicked in shock. He would have brushed it off as nothing had it not happened another time, the feeling of it a bit stronger, more pronounced. Perturbed by the foreign stimuli, Soundwave searched his systems thoroughly. He sifted through compartments of importance, and almost balked physically at the newest addition to his anatomy. _That is not right…_

Gestational chamber: optimal condition to carry. Status: occupied.

_Occupied…? What?! Gestational chamber is…is…_

**In use…**


	8. Swindled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is unprepared for what is in store for him.

This was a sick joke. Primus was one funny mech it seemed, but Soundwave didn’t see the humor in it—in fact, he was mortified to put it lightly. No. It wasn’t possible. He scanned again. And again. The scan returned positive each time. He was within enemy territory…with a developing sparkling tucked somewhere within him…

The telepath put his forehelm into his servos, and vented deeply. The little thing fluttered again, more noticeably now that Soundwave knew what it was, and he froze. He was sparked by the mech he would serve to the end of the solar system, and back. He wanted to feel happiness at the news—when had there been a sparkling since before the war? Yet, his helm hung low, as the small flicker of a sparkling settled within him. _No…Starscream does not want: Soundwave. Starscream…sparkling not…not…_ Mortification turned to confusion, and then to anger as he felt a connection prod at his processor. This was his sparkling regardless if Starscream would take kindly to being a sire (regardless if he wanted Soundwave after it all…if there was an after at this point). He felt along his abdominal plating, and in response, there was a faint flicker of an premature EM field that he could detect. It tickled against his servo, he felt it stir within his processor—soft, minuscule, but _there_. Worry plagued his systems as a door opened near to his cell.

His optics narrowed behind his mask.

He had a few words to pass on to the one who retrieved him for interrogation. He wasn’t about to wilt under any of these Autobot inferiors…that’s all they were. He took a deep invent…

He didn’t mean to allow the whine to slip through his vocalizer—it just happened that way. His systems were weakened. He couldn’t look up to the one who all but dragged him through the halls of the underbelly of the base, or whatever he had wound up in for that matter. He didn’t care. It was that green brute who he had fought (and lost to) near the mine. He had not forgotten the wrecker, and it was clear to the spy that the wrecker had not forgotten him. The Autobot’s thick, blocky digits threatened to widen the seams of his plating. The world around the assassin spun unnaturally, and his fuel tanks threatened to spill, if they hadn’t already been drained. His frame felt so heavy and he was hot. Bulkhead growled as Soundwave scrambled to alleviate the pressure on his most sensitive lines and protoform. The Autobot was having none of it. Servos tightened, threatening to cease the flow of energons through veins, and vital tubing. The Communications Officer winced, but let nothing slip from his dermas.

“I highly suggest you learn early on to cooperate,” Bulkhead growled, although with a smug undertone imbedded within his words. The wrecker gave the spy a good shake before continuing on to meet the others. A hint of a smile crept into his dermal plating. “We aren’t as merciful as you Cons make us out to be. I’m pretty sure you got that back at the mine though. Looks like you were happy enough to see me when I retrieved you.” A small pulse of energy graced Soundwave’s internals, and he remembered precisely the reason he _feared _his captors now. Behind his mask, the assassin bit down on his lower derma until he felt the spice of energon against his glossa. He would hold his helm up high until it came to that…until there was danger in it for the small whisp of energy cradled in his abdomen. He would not sacrifice that—yet there were protocols in his processor that reminded him he had the cause to consider. He had the entire intelligence of the Nemesis under the confidentiality of his constantly thinning fortification. The little flicker brushed up against the walls of his chamber once more and Soundwave’s worry increased as he was jerked right. The overhead lighting was dim, and his optics struggled to adapt to the strange table, and the energy signatures around him.__

There was also a more foreign signature that he had beheld before, but he could not place it in the circumstances offered. In an instant there were another pair of servos on him. His vents hitched as he was hoisted up. His back plating forcefully met a tilted, cold slab of metal. It knocked the air out of his system. His vents sputtered as latches clamped down to securing his arms, and thighs against the flat surface. It was bitter, icy and unforgiving against his feverish armor. He couldn’t move except to shift his abdominal plating, and chassis (which he desired to cover knowing he was not the only one at risk here). He might have even been taking note on the archaic form of torture if he hadn’t been already panicking inwardly. He held his EM field tight to his plating and glared as well as he could in his current state.

“We should start,” an unidentified wrecker spat with distaste fit to curdle energon. Three pairs of optics pierced his plating. Three pairs of servos free to tear, to pull, _sever_. The spy sent out a pulse through his EM field. It was a declaration to the three fools that he wouldn’t break so easily. It wasn’t his choice to throw away the Decepticon cause—it wasn’t his to forfeit, after all. His life was a significant piece of the inner workings of it, but he was only a pawn in the bigger picture at the end of the solar cycle.

“Agreed,” the Bulkhead rumbled. “Smokescreen—behind the platform, there is a thick wire. It’s the thickest actually—he said it was the one to connect first. Then the two on the sides, plug them in to the slots beside it. Go ‘head and amp it up to level twenty.” The racer gave a curt nod, and maneuvered behind Soundwave, and the slab he was bound to. The spy tested the strength of his bindings, and cursed Primus, Unicron, as well as his own brash decisions. His emotions were paper-thin at this point, and his energy readings by far thinner. The thick wire probed its way tactlessly inside of the port exploited at the base of his neck. It was uncomfortable to say the least, bordering on painful. The other was fed into his left side where a port would be connected for emergency revival on his frame type. _How coincidental... ___

“We’re clear,” Smokescreen announced, tugging at the thickest cable now connected at the back of Soundwave’s neck so that his helm clunked against the surface of the slab. His CPU connections strongly objected, and Soundwave’s systems almost stalled at the realization. He was then met with large, pewter-gray servos on his helm, and cold blue optics glaring into his masked face. The digits pried roughly at the sides of his face, along his jawline, until they met with the concealed edges of his mask. There was a chilling pause before a loud, punctuated ‘click.’

“Frag, it’s really stuck on there…” Wheeljack bit out, increasing the intensity of his digits as they sought out a means to relieving the prisoner of his mask. The Communication Officer’s plating creaked. Soundwave’s optics widened. He attempted to relieve his helm from the savage grip that pressed into his temples, and threatened to crush his newly healed cranium. Those servos threatened to expose his well-kept identity, his dignity—another ‘click’ resounded. The mask fell forward into the waiting palms of the enemy. The optics of the Autobots brightened slightly before narrowing in turn at his exposed visage.

“So Faceless really does have a face under there all along. Huh…” Bulkhead observed. The spy’s violet optics narrowed.

“…not bad on the optics for a con—no wonder Megatron was so fond of ‘em,” Wheeljack sneered. A growl rumbled from deep within Soundwave’s chest.

_Scum of Cybertron…you are all scum under a witless Prime…_

“Get the scientist on the line,” Wheeljack ordered, no humor left in his vocals. “He’s needed.” The cerulean optics of the bot were unsettling if anything as he leaned in to lock his gaze onto Soundwave’s. He was close enough that the spy could detect the heat that radiated off of the wrecker’s plating. “I won’t give you the privilege of knowing scrap. You _will_ provide us what we ask of you. At this point, you have no mech to defend you.” The heat of breath against his facial plates was not as intimidating as the wrecker would have liked to think. Soundwave clicked, and buzzed before he responded to his captors.

“Optimus Prime has changed interrogation methods: when exactly? This certainly provokes thought: Autobots finally becoming mechs at long last.” The spy might have had a moment of confidence if not for the sudden pain that exploded as a heavy fist made contact with his torso. He choked on the air that would have entered his vents otherwise if that singular hit had not been so utterly disorienting. His optics widened as his frame tensed. That was incapacitating—only one hit to his…

_…oh frag…_

_S-sparkling…?_

Primus no! His systems flared as he scoured his systems for the miniscule signal that fluttered so lightly against his internals on occasion.

_Where…where…?!_

He started to panic. _Sparkling?_ He tapped into the sector of his anatomy that housed the little life signal and could have wept in relief. The meager energy source was shaken, but flickered lightly nonetheless. He gasped as he re-calibrated his systems for good measure and focused the fortification settings to administer solely around his gestation chamber. As long as the bitlet had protection, he would settle in (as well as he could, that is).

“Want to speak out of line again? Nothing stops me from laying it into you.” Soundwave remained stone silent. “I didn’t think so.” Bulkhead loomed close behind his teammate. Soundwave cursed them a thousand times over. He had never felt so weak in his entire existence. He felt as though he was bared for all too see. Open and vulnerable. “Now, let’s get this going, I don’t have all night. Smokescreen, turn it up. I want some slagging results out of this session.” Foreign pulses of energy came alive within the spy’s veins. His plating crawled with a profoundly uncomfortable sensation. He felt it spread through his sensornet, cold, and hot all at once. He then felt even more exposed as he realized the three frames that stood in front of him. He felt the armor surrounding his midriff clench. They were the inferiors here, tactless, and barbaric. He would come out on top, and make his way back to base. He had to, there was no room for failure.

The assassin stared straight at the one known as Wheeljack as he flipped the cap off of a welding tool. The tip was slender and right away Soundwave recognized a similar piece of equipment from Knock Out’s office. It was used for precision work on lacerations that were not accessible. It was something used in vein, arterial, and protoform complications. He had recalled the object of focus being used on repairs when his helm was damaged in the last meeting with the wreckers. He had also noted that he had been under heavy anesthesia. There was also the fact that Knock Out was a qualified medic—not a trio of riled up, more than just slightly furious enemy mechs. Wheeljack stepped forward, activating the piece of equipment so that a bright blue flame crackled to life at the end of the pointed nozzle. It hissed at a high frequency, and the temperature readings were noted by Soundwave’s systems. He didn’t flinch as the flame danced dangerously close to his armor.

“You will be asked a question, and you will spill what you know. You’re the Nemesis’ walking database, so there’s no exceptions. If you do not…” the hiss of the flame became more intense, and searing heat lapped at his chassis, “…you will become familiar with this tool. Ratch has got a good amount of ‘em, I thought I’d let you know.” The mech pressed the tool just close enough to the spy’s chassis so that the heat of it lapped at the plating. It was the first warning.

“We’ll start simple. Why were you at that mining site?” Silence. Stone silence. Soundwave quieted the unease that had settled in his systems, and glared at his offender. “Smokescreen, hit lever one.” The telepath didn’t have time to properly assess before a scalding hot sensation burrowed its way between his left-most chassis plating. The flame-sporting nozzle was unmercifully shoved underneath the plating where it met unguarded protoform. It was all white hot _pain_. There were no words fit for this. It was an all-consuming, torrential wave of hurt that caused his vents to stutter, and choke.

He did not release a sound. His glossa burned. He felt warm rivulets trickle down his chin and scowled. The Communications Officer should have assumed they would use a sense heightening contraption; it was excruciatingly effective. There were no guidelines when it came to torture. The nozzle was withdrawn from where it was wedged under the armor, and he was met again with those merciless blue optics. Soundwave steadied his vents as well as he could. He felt the pulsing heat underneath where the flame had seared into the sensitive, softer metal (leaving the area charred, and raw). Energon trickled from it, escaping the mess of the wound that would continue to throb throughout the interrogation, and most likely long after. As long as they remained clear of his lower abdomen, it would all be alright. “We will do this as long as it takes. You have ‘til the scientist arrives to give answers willingly—by that time, we won’t need to ask you for the information. But, until that time comes, we’ve got a while to try out old methods, and see how effective they are on you.”

“Smokescreen, switch three. Bulk, I’m going to need you to grab me the energon lines.” The tool was held close to the spy’s armor to remind him just how serious the bots were. Soundwave’s plating tensed closer to his protoform. He ignored the insistent pressure on the damaged protoform and released a heavy vent.

“I’ve got them, Jackie, show me where to connect them.” Bulkhead set down a bundle of clear tubing. Soundwave looked away, focus narrowing on the screens on the other side of the room that were most likely base regulators that monitored the general systems of the building. They flickered warmly, a bit like his work station back on the Nemesis. He tensed as the green wrecker’s digits pried along his left side, prodding over the freshly dealt wound. The telepath sucked in a sharp breath through his vents and swore he felt the Autobot flinch. Their words droned on meaninglessly at this point. This was going to be a trying process…he held onto the hope that he would have enough energy to guard his systems once the expected scientist arrived.


	9. Convict

Starscream hadn’t been able to recharge, hadn’t been able to consume energon, hadn’t been able to properly form an organized _thought_. It had been six whole solar cycles. The winglord had been attempting to gain access to the _Currently Unavailable_ ground bridges fruitlessly. There had been no sign that success would be in the foreseeable future, which left Starscream melancholy, anxious, and extraordinarily quick to anger. This wasn’t happening to him, it couldn’t be. His spark felt hollow without his lieutenant, and he now realized how heavily he leaned on the telepath. He had known something was very wrong when he had commed Soundwave two megacycles after the time he had stated he would be back, and came up with static.

He had sat on his berth, patiently awaiting the moment Soundwave would return so that he could possibly explain to his troubled lover that he hadn’t meant to be a fool. He had set out energon for them on the side table, his Vosian highgrade, as well as wax for the spy. Urgency tugged at his spark, and made him all the more eager to spend the evening with his absent partner, reveling in the thought of reconciling with Soundwave. Time dragged on and the light outside dimmed as he leaned back against the headboard of his berth in the meantime. _He’s busy with the mining project…cut him some slack…_ he had told himself, _Just give it another breem, he’ll show up._

The seeker quickly turned restless. He recalled walking into the Command Deck where an eradicon stood at his station. He had ordered a communications link with Shockwave as well as a direct link to the Communications Officer. It had been tampered with on the other end. There was a clear Denied Access to both. The seeker had slammed his servos into the keyboard.

“Open a ground bridge. _Now_.” The leader bit out through clenched dentas. Fear tainted his EM field thickly. He couldn’t detect Soundwave, couldn’t hear him—he had felt him earlier. _Primus slagging…_

“Lord Starscream, sir…t-there is no access to transport,” the soldier’s vocalizer had wavered. “The systems are down…” he had attempted to steady his vocals as he observed the Decepticon General’s optics flare in fury. He was trained for this sort of thing by the Communications Officer himself—he knew the console well enough to operate without the direct presence of the spy. But nothing had compared him for this. His leader’s rage filled optics bore into his very spark and he felt vulnerable; uneasy…oh Primus above, where did he go wrong?

“MOVE OUT OF MY WAY,” the seething commander shoved him from the console and scoured the systems for a loophole of some sort. “This…this is all wrong, the systems were up and running not two megacycles ago! What in the Pit happened?!” Starscream pulled up a file which streamed info up until a certain glyph where it came to a halt and read: Denied Access. His servos had shaken uncontrollably. _No…no it’s impossible…Soundwave isn’t that careless…he would never be so careless as to…to…_ His vents had stuttered. “I want it deciphered and the ground bridge UP AND RUNNING! I need eradicon sectors seven, and eight ready at flight hangar two. Be ready to do a search around Autobot territory. I want updates streamed directly to me!” The flier had pointed at the console. “You there,” he looked to the eradicon who was originally operating the computer system, “I want results—you will get me the information!” The soldier nodded.

It had been six solar cycles ago…Starscream lifted an unsteady servo to his forehelm. He knew his fuel tanks were running low. Frag, nothing had been able to settle the feeling that relentlessly ate away at his spark. He was constantly reminded that it was his last word that passed Soundwave’s departure. He was responsible for his mate’s well-being. It was another folly on his part…how could he have been so careless? The seeker was plagued by constant stress, and anxiety flooded his processor. He had notions…very clear notions set out in detail in his mind. With the information being withheld, it was a dangerous situation. Shockwave had not responded back to the Nemesis. It was as though the slagger had ceased to exist!

He was the first convicted on the winglord’s list. The possibilities were infinite without access to the fragging system! He huffed indignantly as he strode into Knock Out’s office. The medic had been helping in his own way, utilizing his own computing systems to attempt to penetrate the evasive access codes. He was busy sorting through files that might help with this sort of malfunction, along with the help of the eradicon in charge of taking the Communications Officer’s spot at the Nemesis computers. Knock Out felt his commander come up behind him. The doctor had an increasingly bad feeling about the situation. A mech didn’t just disappear like this…especially not a mech like Soundwave. His signal should have been detected solar cycles ago—he had a solid connected to the ship for Primus sake! Knock Out paused and he considered. The irony in this situation was just too much.

“Lord Starscream, I have doubt that there is an answer that would be reassuring in this to hear in this situation, so I will get right to the point. I haven’t uncovered anything from the system files yet, but…” his leader quirked a optic ridge, “I may have come to a plausible conclusion.” Knock Out exited out of the window on the screen that hadn’t revealed any helpful information.

“Speak medic, out with it,” the seeker bit out. His tone spelled out exasperation like no other. His wings had drooped lower on his back plates in the past few solar cycles, and the confident walk that he executed so fluidly was long gone. He was lost for what to do at this point—without a lead, he was stuck rummaging through as many possibilities as he could (which didn’t help matters, considering he could be miles off from the actual issue). Knock Out cleared his vocals.

“There were no records uncovered of Shockwave having any direct contact with the mining project, as Soundwave did, since he was the head of the operation. I spoke to the eradicon director, and he found records of Shockwave’s contact with _Soundwave_. Said eradicon hasn’t been able to track any evidence of Shockwave’s signature in the feeds as of now, which means that he has cloaked his signature and severed ties with the Nemesis, bringing the systems down with his disappearance.” The commander fidgeted in his stance and furrowed his optic ridges in consideration. He had a feeling he knew where this was going, as he had already thought on the possibility himself.

“We’ve established the tracking of his connection is no longer feasible.” The seeker narrowed his optics. “What do you mean contact with Soundwave? Wasn’t that obvious that he would have had to have connection with Soundwave to assist him in developing the project further?”

The medic took in a deep invent and sighed. “What I mean by that is there were security breaches, Lord Starscream. 2RN found traces of software that isn’t meant to be activated without certain, two-way acceptance. But it was. The mining operation is unchanged, there were no alterations to it since Soundwave’s departure to aid in the repairs. 2RN gave me updates from after their meeting, and found absolutely nothing changed.” Knock Out cracked his servos. “It was my thoughts that this was a way of getting Soundwave to let his guard down so he could move in, and obtain the upper servo.”

“So, Soundwave was essentially stalked, taken…possibly being held captive at the bastard’s lab, or…,” Starscream raised a servo to his forehelm. _Frag the cyclops to the Pits._ “Wait, there have not been any records of contact from Shockwave. If he were to hold Soundwave hostage, per say, wouldn’t he want something in exchange? There have been no attempts on his part to reach the Nemesis’ systems, other than to nullify them for the time being! That can’t be the end of it—that is strange even for that son of a glitch. Shockwave is methodical. He relies heavily on reason…” Starscream hissed. It was still fresh on his processor that the situation was real. That it was his own slagging malfunction to let him leave. Knock Out cracked another joint.

“That is what the evidence is suggesting, Lord Starscream.” The winglord growled, the pent up fury and _fear_ finally breaching the surface. He appreciated the efforts, he really did. He knew the medic was avidly trying to secure information, and working with him to connect the odds and ends they were left with. The scouring of the systems was a tedious task without his second in command—it was better to focus on the resurrection of the groundbridge.

“So be it, but there is a gaping void where logic should be in this equation! It just doesn’t make sense!”

“What about the Autobots, Commander?” Knock Out suggested. “We should explore all options—leave no stone unturned. Is it so strange that there could be a deception involving the enemy? Think about it.”

“And if it is the enemy…?” Starscream’s voice trailed off, his wings flaring out. “Then it would have been the fragger who allowed for my lieutenant to be passed along to them...”

“Exactly! Why would Soundwave go missing after visiting Shockwave, with no mode of communication or traceable signature? And why would Shockwave suddenly disappear off of the face of this filthy excuse of a planet right after meeting with him? It would be too risky to hold Soundwave captive with the knowledge of his capabilities, and even if he DID by chance have the resources, he wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Soundwave is more cunning than mechs give him credit for, and Shockwave should have at least known that much.”

“The question is when _hasn’t_ Shockwave blinked out of existence? The coward had an ulterior motive, and I have a hunch that I need to act on now.” The seeker’s wings flared, as if his CPU signals had motivated the awakening of his stress-plagued frame into action finally.

“Commander, nothing can be done until the systems are up, and running. It’s too risky to go off without a mode of emergency evacuation—comm lines just aren’t enough. Shockwave’s laboratory is cloaked, and without the groundbridge, even if we did find it, there would be no way out if things turned for the worst. I will communicate to 2RN to hurry up the system diagnoses, by for now, the best decision is to remain here,” Knock Out explained.

“Is it…?” The winglord’s processor was on the verge of collapsing with the strain he put on himself, and his wings sagged slightly from their pinnacle height. A warning flashed before his optics that concerning low fuel tanks. “Is it really, Knock Out? I feel…as though we are going about this all wrong, my processor has been on one thing, and now that it’s unattainable, I swear I am left to go mad. Your efforts are…greatly appreciated, but until I have the word that there is a signal to place to find Soundwave…” the commander rambled, “I fear the worst, doctor. I really do.”

Starscream turned and walked away, nothing left to say any longer (everything had been said already). His departure was interrupted by the medic’s vocals.

“Star—ehem, Lord Starscream, just one more observation, if you will. It is my duty to inform you of your health. Just make certain you are getting adequate fuel. I recommend a glass of energon, sir. Your systems are overtaxed, and going out into the field less than optimally functioning is not a good choice.” The medic fiddled with his servos, and for once, Knock Out seemed concerned for the seeker. A stress induced chuckle escaped the seeker’s dermas.

“Of course, doctor, your professional opinion is welcome…although I am not the mech to be worrying over. Please keep me updated.” Starscream turned on his heel and continued to the doorway.

~

2RN did not consider himself anything special on the field, but he was very aware of his skills in technological areas. When he did find a solution to the issue it was early in the morning of the seventh solar cycle of Soundwave’s absence. It was vague at first, but his tired CPU was awake enough to recognize the change in the Nemesis’ systems as they came back into working order shortly after. He piped up from his half-recharge haze, and socked the recharging eradicon officer next to him. The mech bolted up ramrod straight, and answered his assault with a human expletive.

2RN pointed at the screen, beaming excitedly at his own, tediously earned accomplishment. “It’s working! It’s functioning, I-I broke the code! The Nemesis systems are fully functional!”

“Contact Lord Starscream immediately!”

~

The groundbridge was activated in a surprisingly short time. It erupted to life in the Command Deck as the two sectors of eradicons gathered to await their leader’s command. Starscream shifted uneasily on his pedes. Knock and Breakdown awaited orders behind him. The seeker’s optics glinted in anticipation. He would beat Shockwave until he was no more than scrap metal, and throw him into the bowels of the ship to process his energon. He would make an example of the fragging bastard. No mech would deceive Soundwave, and live to speak of it. He waved the gathering of mechs on into the vortex of pulsing light. _Just hold on, Wave, I’m coming._

~

He gasped. He hardly even registered the inquiries as they crossed his audials any longer. It was all just white noise. It was all becoming similar to the sludge that had settled in his fuel tanks, the weight of his chassis. Time had drawled on too long to keep track of any longer. The spy’s torso was alive with the searing pain that was incited by the torch and other tools which the telepath could not name or recall now. There was a time that he just stopped caring what sounds escaped his vocalizer as the blue flame made contact with the raw protoflesh beneath his plating. Each time the assassin felt the soft mesh wilt under the offensive flame. He shrunk in on himself as he refused to accept the losing battle. He was stronger than this. _…for Starscream, f-for…_ His optics flickered as the door to the room was accessed. Soundwave focused his optics on the mech entering the room and his vents stalled…

_Shockwave._

“It took you long enough,” Wheeljack’s vocalizer pierced the air. Soundwave’s systems froze up and he _knew_ at this point it was over. Resistance or not he was set up for failure. His firewalls were already weakened…it was a lose-lose situation. Fury pulsed through his processor at the singular glowing optic. Venom tainted his energon as his half-lidded optics bore into the familiar violet frame.

“My apologies,” vocalized the scientist as he made his way between the Autobots. He avoided Soundwave’s glare. It was a weakening glare at that. The spy felt searing heat pool in his systems as his spark clenched bitterly. It was not a physical sensation. It wasn’t an emotion he had allowed to slip through. Not in the past. Megatron had cherished him as the Communication’s Officer of cold and indifferent demeanor that he was. He had evolved into a loyal counterpart for his new lord and mate. Now…now he wasn’t so sure if he could suppress it…

“Watch it, Con. This deal only stands if you do what you promised,” Bulkhead replied from a table close by, which the green lug leaned against. Smokescreen, with his ceaseless willingness to help out in the Autobot cause, appeared rather haggard, keeping his optics from Soundwave’s prone and exploited frame. There was something about hearing the pained wheezes, and whimpers of their captive that caused him to want to permanently deactivate his audials—the way the Decepticon telepath tensed as pain was dealt sent chills up his spinal connectors. He didn’t feel sorry, he swore he didn’t. This was an enemy. But everything within his spark screamed out the wrongness of the situation. Wheeljack caught on regardless of how hard the racer tried to conceal it.

“Smokescreen,” he said, drawing the bot’s eyes from their spot on the wall. “Go ‘n take a break.” The bot didn’t hesitate to comply. It was all too much. Soundwave watched him leave, and couldn’t bring himself to care. It was one less Autobot to deal with, one less pair of digits prying into his freshly dealt wounds.

“Hook ‘em up to the patch, Shockwave,” the grey wrecker ordered. Something in the scientist’s EM field spiked as he picked about the wires directly behind the platform, but Soundwave had no reason to fight it any longer. He hated his feeble state. The spy loathed his own systems at this point. They were failing him. This was the one fragging task he was appointed in his life and he had _failed_ to complete it. He fumbled to make sense of his situation, to find a way out of it. The spy was the mastermind of the Nemesis ranks. He was an ex-gladiator for Primus sake, the direct accomplice to Megatronus’ rise to power. There was a loophole—there was always a crack in the fortifications—even with his limbs bound, his chassis weighted down with weeping, severe burns and lacerations, his face plates that did NOT waver at the tinkering of the small, sensitive port buried in the back of his neck.

He would not give them what they wanted…he would never do that…he had so much to protect (and so much to lose).

 _I am sorry, Lord Starscream. Purpose: has been exploited…no longer able to conceal vital information…_ His optics widened at the digits that slid wires into the spinal port. Instantly, he knew. He knew why it had been so quiet. He delved into his systems to check the functioning of every little component, every single component he knew of in his frame, and his vents stalled at the realization.

_Sparkling…?_

He scanned again. And again. And again. The spy didn’t see the grey wrecker’s facial plates alter as he witnessed the telepath’s expression change drastically for the first time in megacycles. It was shocking to say the least.

_Sparkling?_

_…_

The assassin’s denta harshly punctured his lower dermal plating as he ran yet another diagnostic scan. It wasn’t gone, it couldn’t be, he had taken all precautions to protect it, and he had guarded it with the utmost care, sacrificing the thickest of his abdominal armor that would have been utilized for his own wellbeing otherwise. He registered a choking sound. His throat cabling was tight, strangling his vocalizations if there were any. Did that sound come from _his_ vocalizer?

 _Sparkling…s-sparkling…?_ A sensation seeped into the back of his neck cables, and up into his processor. Soundwave became frantic. _Sparkling! Sparklingsparklingsparkling…_ He hadn’t realized his venting had picked up so much. He also had missed the fact that hot liquid pooled in his optics. It dribbled down his faceplates, and onto his raw, energon blotted, sticky chassis. He had the sudden urge to keep his own thoughts, and personal memories his own. He was acutely aware of the night he and Starscream’s countless evenings that he had burrowed his helm under his leader’s chin. He was aware of the tug in his spark that pulsed even now. He recalled the evening the seeker refused to bond with him…he didn’t want those exposed to the ex Con behind him, reading into his processor for all it was worth. 

“P-please: desist,” he pleaded openly. It was weak of him, and unheard of among Decepticons. But what other option did he have at this point? He could feel the presence of the device scouring the depths of his processor, sifting through his past. “…desist.” He shrunk in on himself as his thoughts and hallowed memories were sorted through like datapads. He recalled the time when he had retired to his leader’s berth, when his shift work was light. After highgrade, and interface, he lay intertwined in the seeker’s arms. A servo rubbed circles into his back. It was delightfully warm. It was a comfortable silence until he had subconsciously chirped at the steady affections that Starscream dealt to him. His audial receptors perked up at a responding sound that was unfamiliar, and slightly puzzling. He looked up into the winglord’s optics, and saw the smirk on his dermas. He repeated the sound, and nuzzled Soundwave’s face. Starscream cooed at him, and the spy was dumbfounded. He recognized the tone from his sparklinghood as a sign of tenderness. The spy had chirped back through his multi-tonal vocalizer, laying his helm back down on Starscream’s chassis. 

He couldn’t name exactly why, but the memory stuck—and now it was exploited in the name of interrogation. He bitterly resisted the trickle of foreign electricity in his helm. It was useless. He recalled his Starscream’s optics the first time he had entered his quarters. Starscream’s face in recharge. The way the commander would sweep him off of his pedes when he met him after his duties were fulfilled. He drowned in the memory of the way his bonded would hold him to his warm chassis, and capture his dermas in ways that made everything in the universe fall right into place (even though the spy was skeptical anything was ever perfect). How the seeker would brush his tense shoulder plates when he came to stop by his station during the solar cycle…how…how the flier would whisper endearing, and undeserved niceties to Soundwave when he thought the spy was deep in recharge. Or the chaste kisses to his forehelm that left his faceplates scorching with embarrassment. He choked on a stifled sob at the panic that tore through him at the thought of not seeing the seeker again. His processor had clamped down on any vital stores, but they were in line to be investigated just like the rest. He grappled to keep his thoughts in line to deter the device from sifting through every last part of his mind.

But he couldn’t help it…his optics burned.

_“Lay down,” the seeker vocalized rather tersely. It was unlike him, and the spy took note of it. He dipped his helm slightly and complied. His EM field was questioning. It brushed along his leader’s apprehensively before he settled onto the berth. Soundwave removed his repaired mask and laid it on the side table. His optics must have reflected his confusion because Starcream’s expression softened. His wings twitched._

_“Starscream is disappointed in Soundwave: this solar cycle?” Soundwave vocalized tentatively. The flier’s optics flashed an apology when he realized his stern tone was misinterpreted._

_“No…no, I needed you here to tend to your helm...” Soundwave found his optics reflecting his confusion as the seeker retrieved ointment from one of the numerous shelves around the chamber. He came to sit on the berth, and dipped his digits into the substance. The telepath’s damaged helm projections were incredibly sensitive, and he could only appreciate the way the digits of the winglord handled them lightly. It cooled his healing wounds, and he found himself leaning into Starscream’s palm. The servo ended up cupping his cheek brushed his face fondly. Starscream’s dermas twitched, and the edges curled up into a charming smile. The seeker leaned in, and pressed a chaste kiss to his dermas. “My loyal counterpart…what would inspire you to think you’d done something to disappoint me?”_

A painful jerk from his chassis caused him to snap out of the reverie. The cable was gone from the spinal port…it was finally gone…the spy slumped in his bonds. The energy was sapped from his frame. Starscream’s words echoed through his processor, and at that moment, he knew well the reason for disappointment was his own inability to execute a task. A vital task at that. He dry heaved from the stress on his systems, and shuddered. His optics had cut off his visual feed a while back to preserve energy. The room was a lot quieter than when Shockwave had first entered. The scientist’s strong vocalizer broke the tangible silence.

“Information has been secured.” Shockwave remarked as he dropped the wiring carelessly to the floor. He knew there had been more on the drive than clearly necessary. It was dangerous to tamper with the contents. It was something that he could do for the Communications Officer at this point, after he had given him over to the enemy, after he had betrayed him in order to secure his own safety. “Where do you desire the information to be transferred?” He asked the gray Autobot wrecker.

The data ran across screens in encrypted codes that would need to be compiled, but Shockwave was observant. He had seen glyphs in the past to recognize vital information, even in this raw form. “Download it to these computers,” Wheeljack motioned behind him towards the glowing screens. Shockwave dipped his helm and tapped at the device’s screens. He had been surprised to find that Soundwave of all mechs was _sparked_ …the signature code stood out of the others clearly. It was vital to keep that singular piece of information undercover. It was all he could do for his old partner at this point. The scientist told himself that the spy was not shedding coolant. He assured his processor that he was glitching, and that the Communications Officer did not wilt under the Autobots. It was a foreign concept to the scientist. It was not the way it should have been. He entered the codes to be processed.

“I’ll take him back to the cell,” Bulkhead vocalized. The green wrecker moved for the first time in over a megacycle. The information was extracted. It was done. The thick metal bindings had assaulted the spy’s wrists, and thigh armor. As they were released, their captive sagged forward, barely even able to hold up his own helm, much less his weakened frame. There was a whoosh of air from the assassin’s vents as he slipped from the platform into unforgiving servos. The wrecker’s blue optics focused on the mangled frame of the once gleaming Decepticon spy. He reminded himself of what the assassin mech was capable of, and hardened his resolve as he pulled Soundwave along with an unforgiving grip. The green brute did not notice the large crimson optic following his form as he heaved the second in command along. A pained chirr left Soundwave’s trashed vocalizer. It had seemed so straightforward to the scientist, after having not seen the Communications Officer in many orbital cycles. Yet, now, he realized just how wrong he had been. A disjointed, pained trill was the last sound from the spy Shockwave picked up on as the mech was dragged towards the holding cells.


	10. Caustic Measures

The laboratory had elaborate systems and endless beakers, and unlabeled containers. Starscream went immediately to the computer console, confronting the vast board of keys and switches. He scanned the screens with scrutiny. The winglord’s crimson optics flitted over each set of diagnostics, each screen, until he was drawn in by a certain reel of video feeds. His breath caught in his vents as he happened upon the various images, and clips of a familiar Communications Officer…his Soundwave. His EM field flared in fury. _That SICK, PERVERSE, SLAG-EATING…_ the commander’s following shriek ricocheted off the cavernous ceiling. He slammed his servos upon the control board, and raked his claws through the meticulous wiring of the computer system. Knock Out was the first to report to the seething seeker’s side.

“I’ll tear out his circuitry…I’ll rip out HIS FRAGGING SPARK!” Starscream tore through the keyboard, clenching a fist of wires as he practically shed smoke with the amount of heat he was radiating. The medic questioningly looked over the screens, and was quick to pinpoint the root of his leader’s reaction. There were so many files of Soundwave. From morning until night, lists of feeds that had detailed descriptions of daily activities…He’d been watching the spy for a long time. Knock Out’s jaw dropped. He immediately felt for the telepath, wherever he was…this was worse than he had expected. “No mech, NO MECH…” the flier appeared to have lost all control in one foul stroke. A growl ripped through the seeker.

The silence it received was palpable. Starscream stormed over to one of the many tables of beakers, and grasped one. It sailed into the wall to shatter into smithereens. Another followed. The Lord of the Decepticons dug his clawed servos into his helm, and seething. It was all the pent up emotions that had rendered him senseless in the past solar cycles. It was the agony of knowing that he had let his lieutenant go into a _Pit_ of a situation like this. He was at this slagging standstill, trying to come to an answer to his neglect, and disregard for Soundwave’s safety. He was fragged in the helm for exhibiting any ounce of trust in Shockwave.

He needed to feel Soundwave’s spark signature. He needed it desperately…he just wanted to know he was alright…

“Lord Starscream…” Knock Out treaded carefully, keeping in mind the seeker’s current state of CPU. He cleared his vocalizer. “Breakdown pointed out these files. It seems there are communications set up with other mechs. There are no coordinates to go off of…but evidence strongly suggests it was the enemy, considering the circumstances.” 

The seeker’s optics narrowed as he held out a servo to receive the pad. It was worth investigating. There was no way to disprove it without going in helm first. He would get Soundwave back this solar cycle. “…we go to the Autobot’s base then. No more hesitation, no more second guessing, we go NOW.” He clutched another glass beaker, and swirled the contents around. He didn’t need coordinates to guess who the traitor of the Decepticons had been in communication with. “And if they _do_ turn out to be untrue, which is highly unlikely…” he tipped the beaker, and tiredly watched the sizzling fluid pool to the floor. It spread out, and bubbled against the organic rock. He locked optics with his armada. “…then it will not hurt if we spill a little of their energon in the process.”

He dropped the glass container to the floor. The seeker’s dermas were thin, and expectation was reflected in his optics. “Well, doctor?” The cherry mech waved on the eradicons in order to settle the high-strung winglord.

“You heard our lord—move out!” There was the collective sound of gears, and the release of air as the aerial mechs and ground soldiers stepped into sync with the doctor. Breakdown’s optics held worry, but he didn’t dare speak on it. He knew their new leader well enough to know that when he commanded, you obeyed. His EM field brushed up against his partner’s. Knock Out reached up to the large, blue-plated mech’s shoulder, and squeezed comfortingly. “Just walk on Breakdown, he’s got a point. I’m hoping this will finally be resolved after this solar cycle.”

~

It hurt. It was a sweltering, throbbing flame that ate away at his abdominal plating—one that was no longer physically there. Yet the spy could feel the heavy pulse and throb of the abused protoform. It made him whine under his breath and shiver when a stronger wave of pain passed through his sensornet. He didn’t know where one excruciating ailment ended and where the other started. It was all a haze of thick and penetrating agony. The telepath had been granted access to his data cables with the removal of the sensory intervention device, but his energy was sapped from him—they lay sprawled out on the ground next to his frame, limp and numb. He was curled up against the far corner of the holding cell, legs drawn up as best he could manage to protect the wounds that still seeped energon. His side was pressed into the cool floor, and he reveled in the sensation. It dulled some of the burns on that side of his abdomen. His mask wasn’t given back, but Soundwave for once could not find it in him to care. He sported lacerations and other physical damages, yes, but that was not what bothered him the most.

No, it was the fact that his once thought “impenetrable” processor was exploited as though he were nothing more than a drone. This was it. Supposedly the most mentally sound of the Decepticon army, he had bent under pressure so easily…it was pathetic. He had sworn back before the war even started that he would close off his processor to the public. It was his. There were methods to his madness and reasons of his own for those motives. It had seemed reliable—up until now, when the Communications Officer was brought back down to reality. He was still only a mech. He cringed as a pang of despair hit him. It was déjà vu of the most familiar kind. He clenched his servos and became even more crushed as the sting of coolant invaded his optics. Leave it to his own traitorous systems to berate him further.

He swore he heard Starscream’s vocalizer. He perked up momentarily, and scanned his surroundings. It came as more of a disappointment to him than it should have when he didn’t find the seeker’s EM field. His helm hit the floor with a resounding ‘clank’. He knew it wouldn’t help, but the assassin indulged in thinking of the winglord. He tried to convince himself he was lying against the seeker’s chassis as he read late into the night cycle, listening to the steady thrumming of the Starscream’s spark. He tried to remember the sensation of his lord’s servos caressing up, and down his tender spinal connectors and trailing over his sensitive neck cables. Those servos that tickled across his tentacle housing, flitted over his most sensitive seams…

_He nestled in under Starscream’s chin and heard the seeker rumble sweetly. Affectionately. He felt warmth in his chassis as his lord reached over to turn off the light next to the berth. Then there was the flier’s undivided attention. He adjusted the spy so that he was draped over his frame and pressed kisses to the faceplates that were revealed to him every morning and evening. Soundwave nearly purred with the lavishing touches and brushes and displays of devotion, although they weren’t bonded, not yet, but it didn’t matter because he had Starscream to himself regardless. He deemed the whispers in his audial frivolous, until they were spoken to him like a chant—words that passed the commander’s dermas only when he graced his berth. Beautiful…sweetspark… It was only the second in command and his leader in these hours, tangled and warm…_

Soundwave was drawn out of the sweet reverie by a warning that told him of his continually receding fuel levels. He huffed. Coolant ran down his faceplates in hot rivulets, and he didn’t resist the sudden urge to sob. It was quiet, choking, and utterly pathetic. But what else did he have to lose? If there was the chance that Starscream would not locate him, he should feel the pain of what could have been—to know was a better feeling than to not feel at all.

He considered the possibility that his lord could come and almost dreaded it. He would surely be disappointed, and Soundwave could not bear that. Above all else, that would be the fatal shot to the spark. He didn’t want to reveal to Starscream that he had betrayed the Decepticon cause—betrayed _him _, willingly or not. It was all too much. His processor ached, as did his spark. He longed to feel his seeker pressed against his chassis like the evening before everything went awry. Yet the lingering thought of further rejection hurt him deeply.__

How could he have let this happen? How? When had the winglord asked anything of him? He had only refused to bond, and the spy had taken it to spark…taken it to mean that Starscream did not want him for him…even so, he should have been devoted enough to look past that. He was the lieutenant of the Decepticons, and therefore feelings did not and should never compute to actions. He whimpered, and buried his face into his servo. The burns pulled with every stuttered intake. Kliks passed with the sound of his whines, and clicks being the only sound in the chamber. His vision was blotted around the edges and he couldn’t remember exactly why he had been so upset. He felt almost numb as he let his servo fall and intently watched the wall opposite of him fade in, and out. Something was off, but he didn’t have enough energy to diagnose his system’s functionality. He’d wait it out. At the end of the solar cycle, he figured he’d wake up, and find it was all just a bad recharge cycle.

Smokescreen had made his way into the medic’s office a while ago. He had taken a seat, and helped to clean tools at Ratchet’s request. He had been relieved to oblige for once and was happy to get away from the scene he had actively been a part of. He had been—but now his processor caught up with him. It cracked his temporary contentment. He wiped the cloth across the gleaming metal surface, thinking about how some similar tools were down beneath them now being utilized to torture another living mech. A mech who had been whimpering, resisting, trembling (who had eventually broken)…

The sports car eyed the sharp edge of the device in his servo, and felt his fuel tanks lurch. He laid the tool down. It clanked against the counter, and the young mech knew he was done for. Ratchet looked up at him. “Smokescreen. What is it?”

Smokescreen cleared his throat in defense and looked back to his tool, then away again. He had become rather squeamish, dwelling on the fact that he was an accomplice to unapproved torture, and it was apparently written all over his faceplate. _Fantastic. ___

“What? What is what?” The medic’s optics narrowed. “Ratchet, I’m fine! Why are you looking at me like that?” He cleared his throat. He wanted to get the feeling of the tool cleansing fluids from his digits. He felt coolant prickle to the surface layer of his frame. He blinked his cerulean optics in attempt to clear that caustic feeling that had only worsened since arriving in the med bay. He felt the weight of the situation upon his shoulders. Smokescreen was painfully aware that their Prime was unaware that there was a captive right below them. Unaware that, while he was in Ratchet’s office cleaning tools like an innocent bystander, he had played an active role in malicious conduct. Yes, the Communication’s Officer was their enemy but…Smokescreen swallowed…but he had dropped like lead…the spy had no fighting chance. It was a war, it wasn’t supposed to be fair, but this—it just didn’t seem right. “I’m fine Ratchet, really!”

The medic squinted in optics in suspicion, and set down his own work to confront the bot. He knew it wasn’t a normal. Smokescreen was being reclusive, and considering he was one of the most extroverted mechs in the base, the medic refused to fall for the ruse.

“I don’t believe a word of it.” Ratchet remarked as he made his way over to the soldier. He placed a servo on the counter, and loomed over the edgy racer. He’d get it out of him, whatever it was that was bothering the bot to this extent. “Smokescreen. Look at me.” Blue optics flicked up to acknowledge the old medic’s presence, then flitted away again.

“Yeah, Ratch?” Smokescreen’s vocalizer was quiet as he responded. The doctor didn’t liked it. Not one bit. Ratchet pulled the swivel chair so that the mech faced him. “Tell me what is going on, or I swear to Primus I will take initiative to find it out myself.” Smokescreen’s optics widened a fraction at that. His processor frantically tried to piece together a reliable alibi for his actions.

“N-nothing, I just—it’s…complicated!” the soldier stuttered helplessly, optics pleading, and glossa too fast for his scattered thoughts. He gripped onto the medic’s forearm, and stumbled badly over the words that became senseless after a klik. Smokescreen had started to shake. Coolant collected, and dripped from his forehelm. Ratchet had since become more worried, more so for the bot’s health than anything else.

“You’re not well, clearly. Take a seat. That’s an _order_ , Smokescreen.” The medic tugged him so he stood. He couldn’t watch the mech fall apart in from of him like this, it was so unlike him, there had to be something wrong. Smokescreen didn’t budge though, and shook his helm. 

“No! I’m not sick…” the sports model finally cracked, and choked on the emotion he didn’t know he was withholding. “I didn’t know—I d-didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t—but it’s not me, Ratch! It’s not me…” he buried his helm in his palms, and groaned pitifully. His faceplates were blanched of energon, and he felt hot. Why did he do it?

The doctor, as lost as he was, paused momentarily and felt a certain dread settle into his fuel tanks. “You didn’t know what?”

Smokescreen shook his helm again, and sucked in a wavering breath. The medic waited. It was an understatement to say he was deeply disturbed at whatever had caused him this amount of distress. “They-they told me we were going to retrieve valuable information! Take care of business. Didn’t specify. They said it would benefit the cause, so I went along with it…” the medic nodded for him to go on, his servo now clenching the racer’s shoulder plate. “…and now I don’t know what to do! They-they took him down there…!” By this point, the dread had blossomed into near panic in the medic’s spark. That couldn’t be…that would put the entire team in danger, it was unnecessary, and Optimus—did he know?

“Who are ‘they’? And who did you take in?” Smokescreen wiped furiously at his face and scowled to keep his composure as best as he could. It didn’t help much.

“Wheeljack and Bulk…took me along to bring him in…” Smokescreen cleared his throat. “ _Soundwave_.”

“You did what?!” Smokescreen was probably mistaken—he had to be, if the others did… _Primus help them if they did…_ Smokescreen flinched at the medic’s loud vocalizer.

“I-I’m sorry! I’m so slagging sorry…” the young recruit broke down at this point, the weight on his shoulders buckling the façade he had been carrying for the past few solar cycles. “I didn’t know they’d do that to him…I s-swear…frag I didn’t know Ratchet…” a small sob escaped his vocalizer. He had wanted to prove himself worthy to work under the Prime. This wasn’t what Optimus would want. Their prime would never condone such things. He was never one for unnecessary violence, never one to harm a mech, _drug _a mech. Ratchet shook his helm, and rubbed the sport’s car’s back plates. He often forgot how young he was. He could distinctly pick up on the sincerity in his tone. But it wouldn’t change the outcome of the situation. It posed a large danger to them, considering as well the original Decepticon leader had fallen from power, which left his infamous second in command to lead their enemy forces.__

Ratchet didn’t know the dynamic between the Con superiors, but he had a notion Starscream would not just sit idly while his lieutenant was held hostage in the Autobot base. He had a good idea _why_ the wreckers were so adamant to capture Soundwave in particular, but their haste and stupidity would cost their entire team! They were currently understocked when it came to resources, and they were NOT battle ready. The medic sighed irritably, and pushed for Smokescreen to stand.

“Stay here, and don’t move—I’ve got to take care of this before the whole fragging Decepticon army comes crashing through the roof,” he pushed the soldier lightly toward a medical berth. “I want you to breathe, Smokescreen…” the medic squeezed the fighter’s shoulder, appreciating the honesty in the situation. Coolant glossed optics widened, and Smokescreen gripped onto his wrist.

“Please, don’t tell them it was me—I-I’ll tell Optimus myself, just don’t tell Wheeljack…!” Ratchet felt pity for the mech, as it was clear he was shaken up over the event. He watched him for a nanoklik more, and then nodded.

“We will figure it out. Don’t leave the medical bay.”

Smokescreen forfeited the grip on Ratchet’s wrist reluctantly, and mumbled something. The doctor would figure out the rest later, it was vital to address the largest issue. It wasn’t as if he had never played a card like this in wartime, but there was the _right _way to do it and then there was the _wrong_ way (wrong way being the spontaneous decision between a few mechs, without the knowledge of their teammates or their leader, most importantly). He growled as he strode down the hall and took an elevator down to the lower levels of the base. His pedes were loud, as he followed the passage which the vocalizers were most prominent, and arrived at one of the older data storage rooms. He arrived at the doorway. He shouldn’t have been that shocked. Energon covered the floors underneath the slab, and decorated the metal bindings that seemed to the medic to be recently utilized…three other mechs looked just as shocked as he did stared right back at him. Bulkhead, Wheeljack, and the Con defector…__

“Ratch…” Wheeljack started, but he was interrupted by the medic’s blaring EM field. Ratchet realized he had held Wheeljack to a certain standard in his processor, and the fact that he had proved it false made the disappointment worse than it should have been in reality. The fact they had gone behind all of their backs…gone behind _Optimus_ back…

Wheeljack told him everything (or used to, that is). The wrecker had dragged Smokescreen into it—it made him see red he was so fragging furious. And all the while the grey wrecker had gone about it as though nothing was going on. Ratchet hadn’t suspected anything. The doctor shook his helm and shuttered his optics to make sure he was seeing it all correctly. The deep blue energon glistened under the dim lighting, the scent indicating it had been spilled earlier in the solar cycle.

“What have you done?” The grey wrecker shifted and took a step forward but the reaction he received was not the desired one.

“Ratch, just hear me out…let me explain.” Ratchet shook his helm, and narrowed his optics.

“No, no, you listen to me right now, Wheeljack—do you even realize the amount of danger you’ve put us all in by doing this? No…? Of course you didn’t! When have you done anything that doesn’t directly affect yourself?!” The medic laughed bitterly, hoarsely. It was a sad sound, and he bit back on it to address Wheeljack once more. “I thought better of you, Wheeljack, I really did. Take me to him.” Ratchet’s optics were cold and hardened. He ground his denta together.

“We did this for the team, we needed the information…” Bulkhead cut in, urgently trying to alleviate the blame. Worry was present in the green mech’s optics. It was the right decision, wasn’t it? They had meant well….Ratchet’s gaze shifted to the wrecker and he scowled. It was enough to quiet the room.

“Spilling more energon is the way to go, hm? And I guess you think that fraternization with the enemy’s outcast was supposed to benefit the team as well…? Do you think I am that stupid?” The medic clenched his servos to keep himself in semi-control as building anger pulsed through his fuel lines. He felt exasperated. He had known of the former Decepticon scientist’s visits—it was established that he would help with a few energon modification methods, under the direction of Optimus Prime.

This had not been a part of the agreement.

So, all the time that Wheeljack had spent up in the medic’s office, on his extra swivel seat, leaning over his shoulder while he finished work these past couple evenings. It had all been an elusive setup, a simple distraction to protect the lie. “Take me to him. Now.”

Wheeljack nodded solemnly, realizing the gravity the situation had taken on. He stepped away from the other two without a word and led the doctor from the room. He wouldn’t fight the command. _It was necessary_ , he repeated to himself. It had to have been. He tried to ignore Ratchet’s heavy EM field to no avail. That wasn’t the doctor’s signature expression, no, it was a scowl. He caught those blue-green optics and felt the severity in them like a physical blow. They came to a stop in front of the dark holding cell. There was a rigid form huddled into the far corner.

“Go speak to Optimus.” Ratchet grit out. The grey wrecker hesitated. Wheeljack once more tried to secure Ratchet’s attention, to explain, for the sake of anything he’d ever had with the severely disappointed medic.

“Ratchet, I—” The medic turned around, and glared. He was downright furious, and that only scraped the surface. His dermas pulled into a sneer, and he held down the choked feeling culminating in his throat.

“No, you will NOT say a thing to me—you will go to Optimus Prime, and you _will _confess to your leader. There is no apology that should be directed my way. I don’t give a single slag what you do after, but that is your responsibility,” the doctor took in a deep breath, and hissed, “There is nothing I would accept from you at the moment, regardless.” With that he turned from the wrecker, and opened the cell door. The prisoner was in pitiful condition. The Communication’s Officer needed medical attention immediately.__

Ratchet gathered the unconscious mech into his arms as well as he could, along with the stray tentacles. He felt energon drip onto his chassis, and could only hope that the spy hadn’t lost too much already. There was a strangled sound that escaped the injured Con, then a duo-tone whine. The medic took note of the pain the spy was in, and held the lithe mech more securely as he made his way out of the cell. Soundwave’s helm lolled, and a few stray, sharp clicks escaped his vocalizer.

Ratchet recognized it as a good sign, considering the mech’s subconscious still responded to stimuli. The doctor took the lift up to his office and hurried in with the captive, who had begun to gradually rouse from his injury induced haze. Soundwave had become panicked, and had started to trill sharply. He was much too weak for any other means of retaliation, and took to whining and clicking out his discomfort. Ratchet laid the whimpering, lax assassin on the soft metal of a berth, and immediately accessed an energon line, pressing it into the soft metal at the juncture of the telepath’s arm. The medic connected wires to the exhausted mech’s chassis, simultaneously assessing the burns. He suspected the damage was focused primarily on the abdominal region of the assassin, as the armor was flared to avoid unnecessary contact with the protoflesh. Soundwave chirred in discontent, and flushed heated air from his vents over the medic’s servos.

“I’m going to need access to the your most prominent wounds,” Ratchet said to the Communications Officer. Those violet optics that the doctor had miraculously missed in his hurry to secure the mech to IV lines now brightened at what the medic said before narrowing.

“I-inquiry: repairing Soundwave…why?” The spy shifted uneasily as he adjusted his optics, and shied away from the medic’s digits. His chassis ached inside, and out, and his plating crawled at the thought of another mech touching him at this particular moment in time. He had been manipulated, exploited thoroughly, and drained of information—what more did the slaggers want from him?! The Autobot medic seemed taken aback.

“Your leader, presumably, is going to do everything he can to secure your location. This was not the Autobot initiative—I am going to get your repaired, and take you to him.” The assassin listened intently, and nodded at that, the pain in his chest simmering as he observed the red and white mech critically.

“Soundwave has no connection with: Starscream…” the spy replied.

“Soundwave…the Prime, I, and many others had no clue this was happening…” the doctor wiped a servo across his forehelm. “I am going to prepare you to return to the Nemesis, so your cooperation would be appreciated greatly. I know this is not comfortable for you, but time is running short…” Soundwave tilted his helm, and opened his mouth to speak but nothing left his dermas. It took him almost a full klik to gather his thoughts.

“S-Soundwave return…” the medic cut off the befuddled Con lieutenant, and nodded.

“…to Starscream, yes…Primus help us all, there is nothing I can say to remedy this, but Optimus was planning on proposing a treaty with Starscream...” the medic rambled as his shocked Decepticon patient stared blankly towards the wall across from him. The spy was in absolute shock (understandably).

Why was he here again? He shuttered his dim violet optics. Did the Autobot medic just tell him he would help him _out_ of their base…after he had been drugged, and beaten to be brought into in the first place? _No…no, that can’t be, there is an ulterior motive surely…_ The assassin broke from his trance, and tensed as the doctor reached out to feel carefully along the flared, mess of metal plating of his abdomen.

 _No!_ A low hissing left his vocalizer and the medic paused.

“Desist.” The Communications Officer growled. His vision became darkened around the edges as his defense systems came to life. He was extremely weak. He acknowledged the fact that medical assistance was necessary, yet the digits of another Autobot on his plating made him want to purge his fuel tanks. His plating itched at the thought. Ratchet held up his servos in plain sight of his patient. The medic knew the situation itself was a fragile one, so he did not wish to corner the injured telepath with his assistance. He had to remember that this _was _Soundwave, after all.__

“I will not force you to accept my services, although they are necessary ones. Your health is being compromised further the longer we hold off…” Ratchet vocalized. “I will move slowly. How about that?”

He turned abruptly at the sound of a vocalizer he had since forgotten about in his rush to secure the captive safely in the medical bay.

“Um…Ratchet…?” Smokescreen fidgeted on the berth, increasingly uncomfortable at the presence of the prisoner in the room. The mech that _he_ had helped condemn to a session of torture…. He scowled and shifted on his own medical berth.

“Smokescreen, I need you to alert Optimus. Now. Warn him of a possible attack, and brief him on the situation. If he has questions, bring him here.” The medic spoke tersely, and observed the way Soundwave twitched at the mention of the other mech’s name. The fighter asked no questions as he nodded, and quickly fled the bay. Silence hung heavily over the room. Ratchet sighed and turned back to his stubborn patient.

“You are liable to infection and viruses if you refuse my care. It is my duty to assist you, and I will do so unless otherwise instructed. Do you understand?” Ratchet waited for the spy’s response. He received a nod. Soundwave didn’t spare a glance in his direction. The assassin didn’t even shutter an optic. He stared forward, attempting to shake off the vertigo that had crept up on his systems. Warnings flashed in his field of vision. There was an obvious strain on his processor. His fuel tanks were low. The telepath’s sensornet flared with the pain of the various burns, and lacerations in his protoform. Ratchet nearly jumped out of his plating at the ‘clank’ that resounded throughout the bay. He observed the Communications Officer, whose helm was lolled back against the berth. The spy’s optics were shut, and his limbs sprawled.

The medic made up his mind. The second in command was under extreme physical, and mental stress. He didn’t think twice as he painstakingly, and meticulously lifted each individual plating component away from the marred protoform. It was bad…too say it was a mess was an understatement. The wounds were concentrated, and open (not to mention numerous). The protoform was warped in various areas, and the energon congealed along the edges of the burns. Ratchet cringed at the sight. He administered anesthetic gel into the most prominent areas. Soundwave twitched even in his unconscious state. The medic began to cleanse the seeping areas, and prepared to close off what he could. He did not want to rush, and risk damaging the injured lining further. Soundwave’s abdomen twitched at the contact, but the medic was reassured knowing it was only a reflexive response. He started the lengthy process of mending the protoflesh.


	11. Shattered Front

The red plating of the Decepticon medic reflected the overcast skies. Earth was a planet of dust and grit and irritants—yet he held his glossa as they sped down the road. There was a time, and place for everything (and now was not the time for his expressions of distaste). Breakdown kept up with him. It was all going as planned until Knock Out slowed unexpectedly.

“Huh…? Knock Out, what is it?” Breakdown made a U-turn, headed back to the medic who had since put on the brakes. The roads were barren, so the blue vehicle had no qualms about shifting gears, and turning around. “Why’d ya stop, doc?”

Their leader was waiting for the signal that the doctor and his assistant would initiate, or so the medic had thought. They were nearing the Autobot base, and Starscream had since grown impatient. Painfully so. Their commander was on the brink of a mental breakdown that would shame that of their previous General on dark energon. That was until Knock Out, and Breakdown received an unexpected comm from the winglord himself. 

Starscream: /Change of plans. I was contacted by the Prime only nanokliks ago. They are meeting me to hand over Soundwave. Be present on the outskirts of these coordinates, and be prepared for a change of pace at any moment./

Breakdown was dumbfounded.

“What…?”

Knock Out: /Lord Starscream, this could end badly for—/

Starscream: /What other choice do I have?! Declining would be sacrificing the one chance I have to secure my lieutenant! I don’t have the fragging time for this!/

Knock Out: /We’ll be there. Over and out./

“This is insanity. It could easily be a trap—why would they take him in, and give him back that easily? What about compensation?”

“It very well may be a trap, but I say it’s more complicated than that,” Knock Out spoke as they sped to the coordinates forwarded to them. “It just doesn’t seem right—something is not clicking.”

Starscream was on edge, wings twitching, fanning out, shedding excess heat. He paced, looking for a distraction, and simultaneously keeping himself from caving, and lashing out at his equally antsy eradicon fliers. They only wanted to help, he knew, but their reassurances meant nothing. He could care less at this very moment than he ever had.

“Space. Give me space.” “Search the area.” “Report.”

“Don’t just stand around, for the Primus’ sake!”

They listened well. Starscream’s worry welled up in his spark, and didn’t dissipate at all. He needed to see the spy. His spark casing clenched at the thought. The winglord realized that he couldn’t deal with the waiting, couldn’t deal with the possibility that this had been a _scam_.

When the ground bridge came to life, Starscream’s wings went straight, angled out behind him in warning. He counted Prime, the medic, and…

“Soundwave,” he rasped, and immediately started forward, his pedes dictating where his frame went. He wasn’t in control anymore.

Optimus’ face was terse. He watched as the leader of the Decepticon army staggered to meet them, the seeker’s burning optics focused on the mech who was clearly the worse for wear. There were no words that he could conjure up as the leader of the Autobots to in any way remedy the wrong that had taken place.

“What…” the winglord stumbled over words as his throat was desert dry. The telepath’s optics were clouded with pain, and his beautiful chassis abused.

“I did what I could for him. The urgency of the situation left me no option, but for me to patch him up quickly…” Ratchet spoke, and felt as though he had wronged the rest of them by doing so. Starscream paid him no mind, reaching out to the telepath with reverence, and gentleness unseen.

The flood of emotions that bombarded his processor was overwhelming. Anger surged through his spark paired with inexplicable sadness. _Soundwave…? _He felt the burn of coolant in his optics, and bit down on his lower derma. He surveyed the extent of the injuries and the reality of the situation hit him. Hard.__

“…sweetspark?” His vents stuttered as he lightly touched the cables along the spy’s neck. He didn’t know what to do with himself. _I let this happen…_

He took the telepath from the enemy’s servos, and cradled Soundwave so that his helm fell against his chassis. There was no ‘thank you’. There was no acknowledgment that there could have been a fallout while his optics searched his unconscious partner’s face. There was only the tense silence, paired with the cool winds upon their plating as the seeker walked away, back towards the eradicon forces. Knock Out and Breakdown had since come closer, wary of their commander’s position as he retreated with his lover.

“Precious…can you hear me?” He stroked his thumb along the assassin’s faceplates, and felt him stir. Blue-violet optics struggled to open, but with effort, the mech found a way to make it happen. Soundwave whimpered as he fought his way into awareness. 

His Starscream was there. The mech was actually there! Or was this another one of those hallucinations?! No…Soundwave couldn’t handle another of those! But there was a warm servo against his faceplates. He was really there! He was! The Decepticon lieutenant whirred in relief. He jerked forward, and regretted it instantly as the pain from the burns blossomed back to life, registering in his previously numbed sensornet.

His expression was pinched. “Hnnnnn…S-Star-scream…” the spy cringed visibly. Starscream was elated that his mate was awake, but was reminded of his wounds as he became excited at his presence.

“Shh, easy, easy…” the seeker caressed those faceplates he had been so desperate to see. “I’ve got you, I’m here. I am so sorry…so sorry.” The flier pressed careful kisses to his bonded’s cheek, and around his mouth. He rested his forehelm against the telepath’s. A shaky sigh exited Soundwave’s vocalizer. He was really here. It was more wonderful than he could describe, but he knew his failure was to blame for that acrid sensation that ate away at his spark. The telepath’s lower derma, trembled and he felt the urge to shrivel up, out of the sight of his lord. His leader didn’t deserve this—he shouldn’t pity a traitor… _an unfaithful counterpart_ …

The spy’s frame shook with the sobs that slipped from his dermas. Starscream’s spark shattered at the display of utter brokenness from his mate. It deeply disturbed him that Soundwave was so completely torn apart. He made to comfort him. _Hold him. Never let him go._

“My baby, come here…” He pulled his precious mech closer to his chassis, cradling his second near his spark. Soundwave turned his faceplates into the seeker’s chest armor, and seeker felt the warmth of the coolant dripping against his plating.

The winglord called retreat, and didn’t look back.

Starscream cooed softly, and nuzzled the helm of his beloved as he made his way towards the exit of the med bay. He was going to offline every single mech that dared to lend a servo in his partner’s injuries. None would go unscathed. They would feel his wrath and remember it well. For now he swallowed the fury that threatened to tear him apart from the inside. There were priorities, and the first was to secure Soundwave’s safety. He pressed kisses to the points on his lover’s helm, and whispered endearing things to his ailing counterpart. 

He loathed what he had not been able to prevent. He felt Soundwave’s pain as his own. It was acute. The shudders had seized after about a breem of having been in his lord’s arms. The seeker pressed for Knock Out to transfer the medical bay equipment necessary to his personal chambers. With the way the spy clutched onto the seams of his chassis, there was no way he’d let him recharge anywhere else. He would do everything in his power to assure Soundwave’s comfort. Returning to the Nemesis had given Starscream hope, and it was as if the whole crew of the ship made a collective sigh of relief at the sight of their commander bearing the Communications Specialist in his arms. Starcream ordered for the two accompanying eradicon teams to be tallied up immediately. He then carried his consort to his quarters.

It was late into the evening when Soundwave was deemed prepared to call it a night. He had been hooked up to an energon drip, and bandaged thoroughly across his midsection after Knock Out had massaged nanite gel into the welded wounds. The medic had worked tediously on his injuries, telling his leader that the worst of it could be repaired further for the purposes of cosmetics in the future if they ever bothered the spy. Starscream hadn’t once left his quarters. He stroked the armor of his mate and held him close. When they had first returned to their shared master suite, the telepath had panicked at being set down and grasped at the seeker desperately…that was until he realized where he was, and hid his face in his servos. Starscream would have none of that, and knelt by his most faithful. He gently pried the servos away from the lavender optics. He searched them thoroughly, and then proceeded to press a kiss to Soundwave’s dermas.

“I’m here…” he whispered as he slid into the berth and held him until Knock Out, and Breakdown arrived with the necessary materials for further repairs. It was quiet, and peaceful, and the seeker reveled in the soft trills that escaped the officer wrapped up in his arms.

“We will be here the instant you comm us, Lord Starscream,” Knock Out vocalized as he and the blue ex-wrecker gathered used cloths and tools from the side table. The seeker nodded in acknowledgement. It also served as a dismissal. He was rundown, and his systems were overtaxed.

“Very well.” He almost mumbled. The red and blue mechs left and with them, the strain that had been on the commander’s systems. As the door to his chambers slid shut, he pressed his helm to his silent counterpart’s. Anger still surged through the seeker’s veins, but he quelled it to allow for undeterred focus on Soundwave. His EM field radiated love and affection. He would beg to hear the voice of the mech he loved most. His wings twitched as he monitored the spy’s responses…or lack of them, rather. He was careful as he ran his servo over the spy’s blade-like forearm to lace his digits with his own. He was just content to sit here. He would wait as long as it took for his baby to speak. His beautiful, resilient mate…

He didn’t expect Soundwave to glance down, and away from him. The flier’s spark nearly collapsed at the reaction to his display of affection…at least that’s what he assumed it was. Was he smothering the telepath? He was about to reassure himself of the Soundwave’s comfort when the mech beat him to breaking the silence.

“Soundwave must tell his leader…” the servo in the winglord’s grasp quivered. Confusion took over every other emotion Starscream had been experiencing.

“Yes…? What is it sweetspark?” A sigh escaped the assassin, and a whoosh from his vents signaled his anxiety. The mech’s vocals caught as he spoke. “Soundwave is a traitor…betrayed Starscream…f-failed in withholding information pertaining to: Decepticon cause…” the spy choked on the last word and broke into a disconnected sob. Starscream realized then what he had missed. They had wrung information from him—it hadn’t been only physical torture, after all. He beat his fury down as it threatened to breach his control. They had used a patch on his second. _Oh baby…_

“No—Wave…beautiful, look at me,” Starscream reached under his spy’s chin and looked into his optics. They were filled with coolant, and the commander swore he would do anything to make it better for his mate. He would avenge his dignity no matter the cost. “You did nothing wrong. You have not failed me, my sweet, you are here with me again, and that is enough. I couldn’t recharge, I couldn’t _function_ without you. I was so worried…” the seeker had moved his servo from his mate’s chin to wipe away the tears marring his faceplates. Watery optics locked onto his, and the leader smiled as best he could. The flier pressed a kiss to the telepath’s forehem, and pulled him ever closer. There was a point where the spy’s tears dried and he nuzzled back, absolutely exhausted. Starscream rubbed circles into his back plates and hummed to him. Kliks turned into breems. The last thing that graced the Air Commander’s audials before recharge took him was a softly uttered comment from the mech curled up against him.

“Soundwave missed Starscream...”


	12. Expectant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soundwave is expecting. No one really knows how to feel about the turn of events.

A few solar cycles had passed. This particular night cycle consisted of multiple heat flashes for the telepath. The spy turned restlessly, and time and time again readjusted himself to burrow up against his recharging partner. Soundwave huffed at his unstable systems, and tried to immerse himself in some semi-decent recharge (ignoring the haunting thoughts that threatened to consume his CPU). A few times he woke up from vivid dreams of his torture. It caused his burns to flare up, and Soundwave moaned out as he came to this time around, coolant harassing his optics. He had recalled his encounter in detail…particularly the moment in which he stopped feeling the little flutterer enveloped within him. He had tried to swallow the pain he felt—he really did. Yet, it happened to slip into his thoughts, his recharge; it was inevitable. What ever happened to it? Did his systems just recycle the little flicker of life as they shut down to preserve energy? Could it be there still, possibly dormant, awaiting the moment to remind him it was there?

He wiped a servo across his dampened forehelm, and tried to lay back down, adamant on achieving some form of rest this night cycle. That worked for approximately five klicks before he felt a strange sensation in his abdomen. It was lingering, fluttering…and then it would completely cease. It left him thoroughly confused. It was a resonating, ticklish sensation that didn’t necessarily hurt, so he considered ignoring it. He would have shrugged it off, and drifted back into recharge if a lurch hadn’t sent him scrambling off of the berth. The spy felt around the dark room for the entrance to the washroom, all the while clamping a servo tightly over his mouth. He frantically searched for the waste appliance, but fell short at the sink. It didn’t matter, there was no restraining the energon breaching his dermas. He bent over, and purged.

Starscream awoke to the pitiable sound. When he realized Soundwave was not in the berth he immediately got up to check what was going on. “Soundwave?” He turned into the washroom and found said mech, doubled over the sink, clutching the sides for support. The only source of light were the pair of overly-bright, watery optics, which reflected exhaustion. “Oh, baby…”

Starscream joined the spy at the sink, rubbing his clammy backplates. The jet’s optics reflected his worry. Soundwave sounded as if he might respond to him, but another heave made sure to steal away the words that might have been spoken. Another copious amount of energon was expelled into the slickened basin, and the telepath dry-heaved for kliks afterward. The communication officer’s plating was wet with coolant, and hot to the touch. He groaned as nausea wracked his tanks, even though there was no energon left to expel. He panted and just rested a moment, making sure his tanks wouldn’t refute any more of the energon he’d had before retiring to the berth. He swallowed roughly, and cringed at his sore throat lining.

“S-Soundwave feels better n-n-now…” the telepath stuttered, a fresh wave of heat rolling over his rattled sensornet. That was a lie, and it was probably blatant, the way Starscream was standing there, taking in Soundwave’s feverish frame with concern tainting his EM field. That servo still rubbed comfortingly over the spy’s spinal plating.

“It’s alright sweetspark, it’s okay. Take it easy.” The flier gave the spy room, as he could feel the heat emanating from his plating. The telepath’s helm hurt, and his abdomen… _Primus_ , could he feel any worse? He shut his optics tightly to quash the onslaught of nausea that threatened to take over once more.

“S-Starscream: needs rest—doesn’t have to sparklingsit Soundwave,” the assassin urged, trying to gather himself enough to head back to the berth.

“I am fine, Wave, it’s you who needs it,” the seeker responded. Soundwave felt the servo pause in its ministrations. It left his backplates for a moment as the winglord shuffled around the space. Soundwave nearly jumped as the faucet was turned on to douse a cloth. He felt the servo at his back again, and whirred in thanks (he was steady again). He was grateful for the patience being shown to him. The cloth was wrung out of excess water, and then pressed to the spy’s forehelm. The telepath sighed, and leaned back into the flier, giving up entirely on keeping up his charade of confidence when he felt this ill. Having spent most of the night cycle tossing, fussing, and now purging, Soundwave was utterly spent. He let his helm loll back into the chassis, and sturdy shoulders behind him. A trusted servo wound around him to wrap loosely around his waist. A kiss was pressed into his temple, and he chirred at the affection. The assassin pressed a shaky servo to Starscream’s, and just waited out the nausea. He hadn’t realized he’d started to sag in the seeker’s grip, and neither did he note that he had fallen into recharge leaning against Starscream.

The seeker gathered his feverish consort in his arms, and carried him bridal-style back to the berth. The winglord’s counterpart cooed softly as he was clutched against Starscream as the flier situated himself on the berth. The seeker then pulled up the covers and fixed the rag on his mate’s helm. He was worried for him, which was why he sat up against the headboard of the berth for most of the night with his partner’s helm in his lap, stroking his swollen chassis armor. He was light with his servos, and spoke soft words of encouragement to his second every time he woke up. If this persisted into the late morning hours of the next solar cycle, Starscream decided he would call in Knock Out, just to make sure it was nothing to be concerned over.

The morning brought upon an uncomfortable Soundwave. He groaned, and fidgeted in the berth, refusing the energon that Starscream had retrieved for him. It made him uneasy seeing the spy this way, so he didn’t hesitate to call Knock Out. In the time before the doctor arrived, Soundwave fretted, pulled him closer, then resorted to keening in pain, and clutching at his abdomen. The seeker was not conditioned to diagnose illnesses, but nonetheless he desperately tried to console the telepath.

“It’s going to be okay, Wave,” he vocalized as the spy had settled into his lap, cringing at the sensation in his abdomen. “I know you’re hurting, the doctor is on his way.” He rested a servo over his second’s abdomen, and caressed lightly, as he did in the early morning. Soundwave was clammy again. He whimpered, and buried his face into Starscream’s neck. The seeker hated seeing him like this, distraught, and tense (without any way to make it better). “Shhh, Knock Out will be here soon. Just relax, baby, _easy_ ,” the flier told him, and continued to rub circles into the telepath’s plating. _Knock Out could you take any longer?_

When the door slid open the seeker pinned the Aston Martin with a glare that gave an unspoken, unenthusiastic ‘ _Congratulations, you’re late_.’ The medic held his free servo up in his defense. “Lord Starscream, my bad, there was an accident in the medical bay. There was quite a bit of energon spilt, and I was in the middle of patching up Breakdown right as you called…” the flier’s optics didn’t soften. “Uh, yeah, I’ll get to it then. What has been the issue?”

Soundwave squirmed his way out of Starscream’s lap, and groaned. He clutched his abdominal plating. “Hurts…” the spy cleared his vocalizer, “…pain inside abdomen, not the burns…” Knock Out nodded as he set down his equipment on the berth. “Has only gotten worse.”

“Uh huh, okay, now have there been any other symptoms, Soundwave? Fever, nausea…?” Soundwave nodded. The doctor was already running through possible ailments, readying himself for the worst, which was a ruptured fuel tank. The telepath reached back for the comfort of his mate as vertigo hit him.

“Soundwave: expelled energon…n-nausea, and protoform is sweltering…” Knock Out nodded and hooked up an ultrasound. It wasn’t going to exactly be comfortable for the officer, but it was the only way to get a proper look at things. “Okay, well, I _suspect_ a possible ailment—but I can’t say for sure until I scan you. I’m going to need you to lay back on the berth…” Soundwave obliged, slowly easing back. Starscream helped him, and worked it out so that his Soundwave was supine across the berth. The flier stood to the side by the spy’s helm, making sure to allow the medic access to the mech’s prone form. Knock Out grabbed a tube of gel and spread it over the top of the rounded device in his servo. The telepath eyed the mechanism with uncertainty. Starscream noticed, and picked up one of the assassin’s servos.

“This is going to be a bit uncomfortable. I’m going to move quickly, but I need an accurate reading to diagnose, which will determine what we do next.” Soundwave nodded. His vents hitched as the cold gel was pressed into his aching abdominal plating. The spy let out an incredibly undignified squeak as a point of pressure was pressed. The Air Commander’s servo squeezed his Soundwave’s in an attempt at comfort. The doctor zeroed in the tablet he had connected the device to, and moved the mechanism in his servo through the slippery gel over the stomach of the Communications Officer. Soundwave grit his dentas together, and moaned at the unwelcome strain. Starscream ran his thumb over the telepath’s servo, and felt his sparkmate squeeze hard onto his own servo. Knock Out’s expression changed drastically as he monitored the screen of the tablet as well. Starscream’s patience was teetering on the edge. He needed to know what was going on.

“What’s wrong?” He pressed the doctor, and instinctively petted the spy’s forehelm when he started to pant out in discomfort. Knock Out shook his helm, and tapped the screen to conserve the image for a later date. He detached the wire to the scanner from the tablet. The Aston Martin’s processor was reeling. _This shouldn’t be possible._ It really wasn’t worth going over what ‘was’ and ‘wasn’t’ possible though when the proof of the scan was staring him in the face.

“Well, Lord Starscream…I found a pretty confounding result—it isn’t at all what I suspected, it shouldn’t even be possible…” he didn’t know how to put it any more bluntly than he was about to, before the anxious seeker interjected.

“Spit it out, mech!”

“Soundwave is sparked.”

The Commander looked as if Knock Out had shot him right in between the optics. His optics widened, and his mouth hung partially open, as if he might be preparing to speak, but nothing left his dermas. The medic wondered if something vital had crashed in his leader’s processor. He contemplated whether he should rely on emergency protocols, and check their leader just to make certain. The moment was broken by a trill from Soundwave. Starscream shuttered his optics and looked down at the mech on the berth, whose optics were glowing just a bit brighter, and holy Primus was…was that a _smile_? The seeker was appalled, and ecstatic all at the same time.

_Soundwave is sparked…Soundwave is carrying my progeny._ The winglord couldn’t help but smile in return. He caressed the spy’s cheek, and watched those expressive optics squint in his joy. It warmed his spark.

“I’m so happy, precious. What do you think?” Soundwave trilled.

“Soundwave couldn’t be happier,” that lovely expression fell though, and the telepath looked away. He cleared his vocalizer. “Soundwave originally thought sparkling had perished: while under Autobot possession…lost connections with sparkling’s signature.” He glanced back at the winglord. “Soundwave sorry. While grieving for sparkling: didn’t inform Starscream…didn’t think sparkling would survive.” His partner didn’t give him time to explain himself further as he squeezed his servo, and pressed a kiss to his helm.

“But it did…because you are so strong. Any sparkling carried by you is lucky, Wave. Remember that.”

Starscream continued to coddle Soundwave as Knock Out documented what the carrying mech would need. He needed to run more tests. The medic was well aware of why the assassin was in so much pain. From the looks of the scan, Soundwave’s admitting of acknowledging the sparkling’s presence when he was still in the Autobot’s base lined up perfectly with what he was seeing. This meant both the carrier, developing sparkling were undernourished. He set up equipment to acquire the information needed to acquire the vitamins, and minerals that Soundwave needed. This was going to be a long process—he hadn’t dealt with sparklings since before this war had started. He needed to acknowledge early on that this was a high-risk carrying cycle.

“Lord Starscream, could I speak with you a moment?” Knock Out requested as he plugged in the last of the wires into the tablet. The seeker nodded and regarded him wearily. He noted that the effects of Soundwave carrying had been subconsciously influencing the commander’s mood since they had retrieved the spy from the enemy base. He should have been able to read the signs, but he was blind because he had pushed away the possibility of any mech carrying during wartime. But here they were.

“Yes, doctor?” The flier had met him in the corner of the room, out of hearing range of the patient on the berth.

“I am going to have to run tests to make sure that both Soundwave, and the sparkling are healthy. I have a few words of advice.” Starscream nodded, optics quizzical as he regarded the medic. There was a twinge of possessiveness that he hadn’t been able to put off, but now it was full-fledged. The doctor noted the glint in his leader’s optics, and tried to come off as suggestive rather than pushy—he wasn’t about to rile up Starscream of all mechs. He was well aware of the moods swings that came with a carrying partner (as he had relied heavily on texts eluding to such behavior patterns).

“Yes?” The crimson optics of the jet searched his face. The medic cleared his vocalizer.

“Soundwave is going to be very ‘clingy’, as is normal behavior for carriers—it’s base coding. Most likely, he will have a heightened drive for interfacing,” the doctor cleared his vocalizer once more, as if that would help alleviate the awkward in basically ‘ordering’ his lord to interface, “which is in fact completely normal in terms of sparked mechs. It is actually a very necessary component for a healthy sparkling.” The seeker crossed his arms and nodded once more.

“I see.” Starscream vocalized. The medic shifted on his pedes, and put a servo on his hip to allow for a more ‘easygoing’ attitude to be expressed rather than the uncertainty he was feeling.

“So I will run the tests now and…uh, I’ll have the first round of drinks produced for Officer Soundwave to consume by this evening, Commander.” Knock Out was painfully aware of the way Starscream’s derma tugged downward at one corner, and the way his wings were hiked up high. _For the love of my aft and Breakdown’s splint and Primus above… _Knock Out tensed until the flier flicked his wings and turned on his heel to head back to his partner. The Aston Martin nearly sagged in relief.__

____

“Very well, Knock Out. Your advice will be heeded, I assure you.” In an instant the winglord was next to the spy again, and had a servo on his shoulder plating. The dedication of the flier was fierce, and Knock Out made sure to remember not to do anything to suggest he was questioning the seeker’s authority. It would definitely bring out the worst in the Decepticon leader. The doctor sighed, and made his way over to the pair.

_It’ll be like walking on glass around that one…and I thought he was high strung before this. Primus slaggit…_


	13. Concupiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is curiosity among the ranks. It just so happens that Soundwave had been driven slightly mad by the itch he has been unable to scratch. He finds his answer in something less than what he was expecting, but it's that or wait it out.

By the time Knock Out had made it back to the Medical Bay, he was done in. Very done, to put it lightly. The golden optics of his partner caught him as he strode in, arms full of medical equipment, and he quirked a smile. Knock Out huffed as he deposited the mess of materials and the bag over his shoulder down on one of the many counters encompassing the room. Breakdown got up from his crouch on the ground, and winced as his splint was pulled with the action.

“Hey Doc.” He shuffle-limped over to the red mech, who was mumbling, and putting things down on the counter with emphasis. The larger mech stopped at his side and nudged the indignant Aston Martin.

“Not even a hello, Knocks? Geesh, must’ve been an eventful time with the two lovers.” At that the doctor rolled his optics, but he wasn’t out to take out his aggravation on his partner, who had spent the time he was tending to Soundwave cleaning the mess that had happened earlier. Not to mention the bay was close to spotless.

“Hello, you big lug. There. How is the splint holding up?” Knock Out asked as he set down another sample to dilute, and test before the evening rolled around.

“It’s alright I guess…what’s all this for? I know you were on call for a while, so what’s the update?” The medic chuckled and gave his partner his full attention for what he was about to say. He still couldn’t believe it himself.

“Our beloved Communication’s Officer is carrying.”

Breakdown quirked an optic ridge. “Carrying a….?”

“A _sparkling_. He’s sparked. Hard to comprehend, isn’t it? Primus is one funny mech.”

Breakdown narrowed his optics. “That can’t be right…” he started to vocalize, but Knock Out grabbed his blue forearm, and waved a servo in the air dismissively. 

“That’s what I thought, dear Breakdown, but here, I have the scans duplicated, just for you…” the red mech was too happy to retrieve the tablet, and pull up the photos, and spark readings of the small sparkling nestled in the spy’s gestational chamber. Breakdown’s optics widened. _That’s a sparkling alright._

“Oh.” Was all that left the wrecker’s dermas as he regarded the petite, newly-forming organism with awe. Knock Out watched Breakdown’s expression as he regarded the scans himself, and tightened his grip on the mech’s forearm. There had been a rising jealousy in the Aston Martin after he had seen the readings. Yes, Soundwave was carrying. Yes, it was special—spectacular actually, considering the telepath’s protocols didn’t instantly quash the little flicker right away (even under the stress of torture). It was wonderful, yes, yes, of course it was, but Knock Out had wanted the same. He had craved what the Communication’s Officer possessed now, even before the war. It stung more than he wanted to admit.

“Yes, it’s just perfect, isn’t it? And now our Commander is fit to tear any mech who questions him a new tailpipe. It’s…it’s…” the medic had no words fit to describe the acidic emotion that had since buried its way into his spark.

“I know Doc. I know.” The wrecker set the datapad down, and granted the medic his full attention. Knock Out was in a rough patch, and he wasn’t about to admit it. But that wasn’t the full extent of it. Not even close. And now…now he had to be around knowing that there was a sparkling granted to a mech on the Nemesis. Knock Out craved for the simplicity of the ‘pre-war’ era and it was wearing on him. He just wanted to settle down, and lay down everything to focus on something that wasn’t shooting or welding or trying to offline another mech. Plain and simple.

The Aston Martin sighed. “I’m tired, Breakdown. I want what I can’t have, and it irks me to think that the war has drawn on for so long.” The medic shrugged. There was sympathy in the yellow eyes of the wrecker, and a sturdy servo found its way to his backplates.

“I don’t blame you, Knocks. You do a lot around here. You want to talk about it over highgrade tonight?” Knock Out looked up, and met his partner’s optics. He really needed to give the mech more credit. He didn’t know what he’d do without his partner.

“Yeah. I’d like that a lot, actually. Hey, in the meantime, would you mind helping me sort these out? I’ve got to have these solutions whipped up by this evening.” A smile graced Breakdown’s dermas and he pulled over a seat to take the weight off his knee joint.

“Sure thing, Doc.”

Leave it to Breakdown to give him a little boost when he needed it. He had a good feeling about sharing energon with his partner. Some talk, highgrade, and a little more if the other mech craved it too. He set out the test tubes, and samples and began to prepare the supplements for the carrier on board.

Carrying was more foreign than Soundwave could have ever imagined. Between the alterations in his frame and the constant battle to reign in his wavering emotions, he couldn’t seem to establish any peace within his systems. He was adamant in making his way to his workstation every solar cycle, even if it did make for an increasingly worried Air Commander. The spy refused to put down everything, and watch as others around the Nemesis worked, and carried out their daily functions just because he was sparked. It wasn’t in his nature. He made it clear to the seeker that his current state was not debilitating, and in an undignified way at that. The Communications Officer had lashed out at his the seeker in an argument a few solar cycles ago that left no questions as to whether he was able to work or not.

Soundwave had regretted it later, considering the darkened, sizeable dents in the flier’s chassis armor came from his irritability, and spur of the moment anger. His mood swings had been getting the best of him lately, and the spy was hopeless to curb them. Starscream had backed off at that point, realizing the spy probably wouldn’t be in good humor to hear more of his side of the argument. Between the two mechs, there was tension which was balanced out by the urge to preserve the growing sparkling Soundwave carried. The process was an awkward power balance between carrier, and sire, easily thrown off, yet almost just as easily mended. Soundwave was content to have his space during the light of the solar cycle, and return to the berth to have the winglord’s frame pressed close to his back. There was no rhyme or reason to it. he was more receptive at certain times, and others he demanded space. The Communication Officer’s plating would become hot, and he would fitfully pace the length of their room, sometimes exiting the berthroom entirely to relentlessly roam the halls. There was no rhyme or reason, only the restlessness of a mech experiencing the downsides to being a carrier. Knock Out was well aware of the symptoms, and aided in quelling some, while others would just have to work their way through the deputy’s systems. It was only natural.

On the Command Deck, the curiosity of eradicons would not be easily quelled. Whether it have been a result of the medic’s inability to keep such information secret, or some other nosy bots sidling their way into hearing range, the Communications mech didn’t know. He didn’t really give the stray rumors or hushed vocalizers around the Nemesis any mind—not unless they interfered with his work…or his personal space. His plating had become much more sensitive to the heat that was shed from other bot’s plating, so a mech too close eventually began to take a toll on his sensors.

“So he’s sparked? I thought that was impossible, you know with the war altering Cybertronian frames and all that slag…” a soldier piped from the far end of the room. They were secluded enough that it wasn’t painfully obvious they were speaking about their superior officers, but the knowledge of Soundwave’s broad scope of surveillance was always there. At times, a mech tended to forget. He received the crack of a servo to the back of his helm.

“He’s right over there, D3V! Can you be any fragging louder? He’s got audials in the walls, not to mention his cassette!” His comrade realized the knock he’d delivered the other mech was a bit harder than he’d meant originally, but oh well. The mech should know better.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” D3V rubbed his helm and glared at the other soldier. “When’s he ever noticed in the past? I swear you could go up to him and point out the _bulge _around his spark, and he wouldn’t bat an optic.” He put a servo on his hip. “Primus slag—why’d you have to clobber me for something like that?”__

“Oh, toughen up,” another bot joined their small posse and clutched D3V’s shoulder. He nodded to the other. “What’s the haps, C4D?” The other soldiers that trailed behind the incoming eradicon pressed into the circle as well.

C4D jerked his helm in the direction of the concentrated spy. “The leader’s sparked officer.” 

If he could have smirked lecherously, the new mech would have Starscream outmatched. “What about him? Have you been really been ogling him the entire break? What’s the matter with you?”

C4D retaliated as though he’d been hit. “Wha-a, no! Ask him that, he’s the one interested!” C4D dismissively beckoned towards D3V, who seemed a little less perturbed at the thought. “Primus, H8D6, what in the Pits would I want with sloppy seconds—”

“Careful now, you’re talking about the Commander’s berth warmer,” H8D6 replied, vocals exposing his amusement. “…and soon to be _mate_ , I’ve heard.”

The mechs who had started to gather chuckled, and twittered. C4D was a bit miffed, counteracting the jittery and slightly embarrassed D3V. Was it horrible to peak at the spy? He couldn’t help it!

“So what’s got you interested in the assassin, D3V? Just a bit _curious_ …or is it something more? Do tell.” H8D6 rumbled. C4D became further ruffled at the mech. This was undoubtedly a conversation that would lead to repercussions…Caught slightly off-guard, D3V shrugged.

“Uh…j-just his current condition, I guess?”

“Hmm, _curvaceous_ , yes?” H8D6 chuckled lecherously. D3V’s face mask heated up in no time at all and he sputtered in vain. C4D smashed a servo into his forehelm, and debated the long term results of a quick, and easy offline. To look so closely at their carrying superior officer, not to mention one of the most emotionally unstable mechs on the Nemesis, was…his plating rattled as he attempted to rid his processor of the thought. No, Soundwave was not appealing to think about in that light (not at all).

“No! Nonono, that—that sort of talk right there should be illegal!” C4D clamped down on his systems to keep the metaphorical bile down. Frag H8D6 to the Pit, this was vile! And if the carrier caught wind of this conversation they’d have to pray for some merciful leader to avoid the _wrath_ brought on by his possessiveness of the spy. The seeker had been void of patience lately. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“Heh, just wanted to know if he really was sparked or not, since he’s more or less gained around…” D3V motioned to the area of his upper midriff to his hips. H8D6’s visor narrowed, and darkened in his mirth.

“So you _have_ been studying him?!”

“Yes…wait, no, not like that! Gah!” The thoroughly embarrassed D3V put a servo over his visor.

“It’s alright, buddy, to each his own or whatever…” H8D6 snickered, “Although this one’s got a feisty partner who’s pretty slagging homicidal. It’s a little far-fetched, might result in a few busted energon veins, possibly dismantling, the tearing off of appendages, a visit to the pretty sadist we call a medic…” H8D6 pushed one digit down at a time. C4D had made up his processor to leave the group when he caught the gaze of a certain telepath. It was a casual glance that altered into a very uncomfortable _stare_. There was no way to be casual about this, especially since the conversation had become increasingly lewd as the klicks ticked on.

C4D rammed his elbow into D3V.

“Ow! What in the Pits was that for?!”

“You’ve managed to secure _his_ attention you scrapheap! Look what you’ve done—and dragged me into it as well!” C4D hissed, turning back around to shut the rambling H8D6 up as well. “Slag it all, mech, he’s looking at you!”

The cocky aura that the violet soldier had a moment ago altered into meek humility on the instant. He peeked around C4D subtly, and caught sight of the assassin. Well, it was no exaggeration—the spy sure did have a way of staring, even without optics visible to his target. Slag. Worse was the fact that the telepath drew his tentacle from the console, and stood straighter. His attention was solely focused on the group of eradicons. With little disturbance, the feeler wound its way back into the housing compartment and Soundwave strode forward with calculated steps. Horror was what trickled into H8D6’s veins as he observed the carrier mech making his way over, astounded at how a con could walk like that with a distended midsection. It was a presentation of deadly grace and of power. H8D6’s intake felt dry. He’d done it this time.

D3V visor widened and he grabbed at C4D’s forearm. “Frag.”

“ _Well played_ , H8D6,” C4D’s vocals were laced with bitter sarcasm. Soundwave made his way to the eradicons and stopped close enough so that, if they had wanted to, they could reach out and touch his bulging chassis. That would most likely end in a less than pleased Soundwave, with how the violet biolights on his midriff pulsed. The assassin tilted his helm.

“Is there a problem, mechs?” The duo tone vocalizer was clear over the silence of the other bots in the room. The higher eradicon officer, 2RN, turned his helm as he caught the Communications Officer eyeing the lower soldiers. His vents hitched as he watched the scene play out.

H8D6 wasn’t so confident now. He visibly tried to appear smaller, shoulders drooping submissively, and helm bowing to the thick EM field that radiated off of the spy. He wished now that he could evade the waves of authority that ran off the assassin’s frame copiously. They were tangible and sent his sensornet scrambling to assert some sort of dominance or to submit; to turn tail and run would be suicide. Frag, was the predominant word that was now circulating in H8D6’s processor.

“No, sir,” the wary soldier responded. His plating prickled and his systems screamed at him to prepare for something less than pleasant. H8D6’s range of vision was the sleek black plating and darkening streams of biolights. _Don’t look down, don’t look down, that could be interpreted as _very offensive_ , he told himself. But where should he look? He didn’t dare meet the glassy face mask that his own shameful visage was reflected in._

Soundwave tilted his helm, attempting to pry further into the eradicons’ gathering. His gaze shifted to C4D, who had attempted to isolate himself, and then to D3V whose EM field wavered between giddiness and horror. The most prominent vocalizer had been H8D6’s, and from what he had observed made the urge to find some form of entertainment a bit stronger. The soldier carried an ego and a cocky attitude to combat some of the superior officers’. It piqued the telepath’s curiosity and quelled his desire to work any longer that solar cycle. There was something nagging him and he would find out what it was and _sate_ it.

“Soundwave: thinks otherwise,” the assassin emphasized. It was inexplicably entertaining watching the eradicon flinch at his words. “ _Curvaceous-Curvaceous, yes_?” The layered recording assaulted H8D6’s audials, and he recognized just how dead he was. He didn’t have a thing to combat the recording, which was essentially his own vocals streamed through the spy’s own vocalizing systems. He looked down and away from the assassin and hoped that maybe Primus would have mercy just this once.

“H8D6: will come with Soundwave.”

The eradicon’s helm snapped up at that. His optic visor had widened, and brightened in shock. He dipped his helm in a nod, so as not to be taken as disrespectful to his superior, and followed behind the Communications Officer as he turned from him. H8D6 glanced back helplessly at the others, and felt his spark drop. This is what his brash mouth had bought him…he snapped his helm back and trailed close behind the sparked con. They left the Command Deck and headed down the corridors. H8D6 felt his intake become ever drier and prayed that the spy was in a good mood. When they came to a halt, it was at Soundwave’s personal quarters.

Soundwave lifted a servo to type in the entry code. When the door snapped open, H8D6 nearly jumped out of his plating.

“H8D6 enter.”

The soldier obeyed the telepath’s command. What had he gotten himself into? It was surely inevitable at this point. He felt as though Unicron himself had invited him in, and he had just traipsed right along. Soundwave blocked the exit, if there ever was one, and the door snapped shut. Now the reality of the situation hit the eradicon. His dimmed visor was a mirror to the epitome of his fear. He realized just why their previous leader and now their current had been so infatuated with the bot. He was sleek, predatory, and no matter how lithe his frame was, power thrummed through his EM field. He was a weapon physically, not to mention mentally, and the way he stared a mech down…

H8D6 couldn’t stop the shiver that ran up his spinal connectors.

There was nothing significant about this mech that made Soundwave pull him out of the group of all the others. In fact, he was just as ordinary as the others in physical respects. But that fiery, lust-filled projection had caught him off guard. It had torn his processor from his work and caused him to entertain a certain string of thoughts. Useless talk didn’t usually distract him his way…but this solar cycle, it seemed oddly enticing. The loud-mouthed soldier had given him a ploy to secure his own satisfaction. The spy could have cared less at this point if it was breaching the border between ethical and seditious—there was a craving that pulsed deep within him that caused his sensors to _want _and urged him to take in turn. Surely he wasn’t alone in this? It didn’t really matter, it was his responsibility as a carrier to cope with this kind of thing, and this was how he planned to do it.__

Starscream had departed megacycles earlier to resume the so far unsuccessful search for Shockwave’s new location with a a flight squad, and that left Soundwave, and his lust-plagued processor, and this eradicon soldier. It had nothing to do with the consideration of “feelings” or the crossing of relationship boundaries. In fact, it had nothing to do with the spy’s emotional stability—it was purely physical. It was strange, foreign, and proved to be an itch that lasted much longer than the telepath had originally thought it would. He had felt ashamed at first, and had attempted to quell the pesky urges himself. Cold water, mineral doused energon, personal moments in his own berthroom, long walks in the dead of the night cycle—all they did was breed a far more intense sensation than before. The frequent pings from his interface equipment were one thing, but then there was the accompaniment of the _cravings _. The assassin would fulfill it now, or so help him he would go insane.__

Soundwave could feel the eradicon’s trepidation. There was glee under it all that his presence still incited such a reaction, even with his heavily altered frame. Where these feelings came from he was clueless, but to ignore the desires would give into the notion that carrying made him soft-sparked. The spy stepped closer to H8D6, scanning his plating thoroughly; he paid rapt attention to the EM field which thrummed with something between wariness and… _interest_. The mech was obviously a fool, but his idiocy would prove useful. Shockwave’s flaw was to wire the processors of the eradicon class, posing loopholes, and nonsensical trust for superiors where there should be the instinct to fight back. Soundwave intruded his uneasy guest’s space.

“H8D6 will not be punished…” the telepath vocalized, “Soundwave: has found potential in other areas.” H8D6 nearly choked as he registered the words that left his superior officer. _Other areas…what does that entail?_ He backed up as the other mech moved forward, as the situation became more, and more bizarre. This was a trick perhaps? What could he do if it was? There weren’t any openings for an escape, oh Primus why did he have to screw up so badly? H8D6 felt panic creep into his systems as his processor conjured up torture, possibly experimentation and then to…

Wait. He needed to know what other _areas_ meant. If he was going to offline, did it really matter how?

“O-officer Soundwave—what “other areas” if you don’t mind me asking?” The eradicon would forever claim his vocalizer had NOT raised at least a pitch higher than it resonated regularly. The atmosphere had taken on a heaviness that rested on H8D6’s shoulders. The unknown was what scared the soldier senseless at this point—he just wanted his sentence given to him straight and without hesitation. Although, he was not really in a position of control…for Primus sakes, if Soundwave wasn’t going to punish him, then what was this?!

“ _Physical _,” the superior mech’s vocalizer altered so that instead of the intimidating, authority-drenched tone, there was an oddly enticing, soothing tone in its place. “Touch is no punishment: used this way.” And then the space closed, successfully overwhelming the thoroughly confused eradicon. It wasn’t so much that he objected; H8D6 would have moved if he could have, really. He was utterly shocked. His processor stalled, and he reset his optic visor. Was he just asked to participate in interface with—no, that couldn’t be correct…__

“But Lord Starscream…” he _really_ should not have said that name, he realized as the telepath hissed in disapproval. If he could botch up any further, he might as well with how the situation was faring so far. He staggered back a few steps and hit the wall with his back plates. Yes, H8D6 thought, infuriate the unstable mech who just asked you to ‘face him. _Bravo. ___

“Lord Starscream: is irrelevant,” Soundwave growled, the multi-faceted aspects of his vocalizer shining through. H8D6 nodded frantically as though that would curb the spy’s rigid posture. _Interface—fine! Frag, I can deal with that! I prefer that officer over the one who’s about to dismantle me!_

“Of course! My bad, I-I, uh, Primus…” was the last string of words that he was able to utter before the telepath pressed flush against him. Soundwave was warm; no, scratch that, the eradicon felt encompassed by the intense heat that radiated off of the assassin mech’s plating. The sensation of the Communications Officer’s distended midsection was a bit strange—it wasn’t as if he was _huge_ , but the bump was definitely there. It pressed almost awkwardly against H8D6’s midsection. It was not exactly solid—it moved with the rest of Soundwave’s frame. There was resistance only when the spy pushed further against the eradicon. It would have been a blatant lie for H8D6 to deny that his cooling fans had not flicked on.

To begin with, this was too farfetched to be real—maybe he had taken too hard of a drag last night, or possibly had too much highgrade again? His roommate always chastised him when he came back drunk off his aft. No, H8D6 realized how personal this felt, with how the deft fingers of the telepath rasped over his back plating, and caught in his transformation seams. It was everywhere and all over and wow, what had he taken last solar cycle? And why him…? Not that H8D6 was complaining; now that the initial fear of being punished wore off there was a growing pleasurable sensation that streamed through his veins. He was with _Soundwave_ , and as messed up as it was, that turned him on more than he would have liked to admit. The servos at his back delved up into a central seam and his vents hitched. Lust bloomed in his systems.

_This is all kinds of wrong…I could die by this crazed mechs wrath at my denial to ‘face with him, or I could enjoy the spoils and figure out a way to evade Screamer later…or not, wow, I’m about to ‘face Soundwave…_

If anything, this was a feeling that could only be described as a _thirst_. Soundwave urged the eradicon to participate, softening his own movements momentarily to guide the servos of the soldier to his own plating. He blocked the thoughts that swam at the back of his processor that wondered where he had gone to seek out contact that was not his bonded’s. He quashed it with vengeance, and flushed heated air from his vents. The spy rubbed up against the H8D6, and purred at the jolts of pleasure that skittered through his spinal connectors. The soldier didn’t seem to mind, Soundwave deducted, as H8D6 moaned softly. The telepath focused his attention on grinding into the other mech’s pelvic array, because sweet Primus, he hadn’t felt this sort of drive before. He was never a spike-sort-of-mech—sure, it was pleasurable, but it wasn’t his go to when participating in interfacing. Soundwave was not one to go out of the way to seek interface either, but now was a definite exception. The burn was absolutely delightful.

H8D6 dug his own digits into the spinal plating of the second in command as acute pleasure flooded his systems. That, he thought, should not be legal—the way Soundwave’s hips moved so fluidly, creating a pattern of pressure, then release was driving him crazy. He decided not to ask questions; wisely, H8D6 made the choice to go with the flow. If he was to appease his superior this way—the eradicon shivered as the spy’s servo traveled southward—then he would. He rolled his hips back into Soundwave, press for press, pull for pull, and moaned. Friction was beautiful, and his processor spun with the intensity of feeling. It was not as if he was an interface-starved mech; he got around amongst the others of his rank. This was an entirely different concept—Soundwave was no ordinary soldier, in fact there was nothing ordinary about the mech. He was revered for his stoic, and controlled demeanor, but this, oh this, beat that any solar cycle. H8D6 was reminded continually that this was not one of the eradicons by the thrum of the assassin’s EM field, which emitted waves of power, authority, and overbearing control. Being _ravished_ by one of the fiercest mechs aboard the Nemesis was incredibly riveting.

Soundwave clutched the eradicon’s frame, grinding against him _hard_. He massaged the more sensitive joints and seams of the soldier, and hummed out his own pleasure. He would do this, there was no turning back now as the increasing heat lapped at the insides of his panels. He caressed the sensor-rich seams bordering H8D6’s interface array, teasing the other mech’s panels open. The eradicon whimpered, and leaned his helm back against the wall. Within nanoklicks, the cover to the soldier’s interface hardware retracted. H8D6 vented heavily as the servo surveyed his half hard spike, and dipped further to fondle his valve. Slender digits slipped shallowly into the lubricating passage, and the eradicon shifted slightly back in response.

He wasn’t usually one to take it in the valve—yet, to deny Soundwave in this state…(he wasn’t about to try). It was a miracle the assassin wasn’t punishing him as he’d originally suspected he would, so this was nothing. He’d take it like he had in the past. The fingers pressed along the outer edges of his valve and occasionally slipped in; it was more exploratory than anything. It slowly escalated as the telepath slid his longest digit into the wet valve, curling the finger, and seeking out sensitive points along the soft, velvety mesh. He felt his own systems heat further at how the lining rippled along his fingers after he added yet another. Soundwave felt his fans pick up. The heat behind his interface panel was scorching at this point. He now understood the word _need_ in this sort of circumstance.

The next thing H8D6 knew, his valve was piteously empty. He gasped, his visor dimming in disappointment. He might have even asked for those skilled digits back if he hadn’t been unmercifully dragged, and pressed back-down onto the edge of a berth. The eradicon recognized the burn in the sopping junction between his thighs, and clutched onto the spy’s forearms. Was that even permitted? Did it matter at this point? Wow, this had taken a turn for the strange side, but H8D6 quite liked it.

“Lean back,” Soundwave nearly growled, the pressure behind his panels becoming uncomfortable. The hot air that came from their vents intermingled; the eradicon nodded, easing back so that he was supine, thighs parted wide to permit the other mech space. The spy’s interface cover snapped back, and his spike pressurized. It was a strange sensation after not having used it for so long. Soundwave ran his servo over his rather plain, slim black spike; to his knowledge, it was average, but not inadequate. It was sleek as the rest of him was, and had proved pleasurable to the mechs in the past he had spiked. The telepath palmed his heated interface equipment, relishing the blooming pleasure that radiated from his pelvic array. Soundwave leaned over the bot on his berth, so that his helm came parallel to the eradicon’s, and lined his strained spike with his valve. The violet soldier’s whine egged on the assassin, and he ground his hips forward, running the underside of the spike through the gathering lubricants.

If H8D6 was destined to offline…at this point, so be it. This was the one of the most erotic, and enjoyable experiences he’d ever been through. He tossed his helm back as the spike pushed steadily into his valve, its lining fluttering, and clenching. His spinal connectors tightened and his back arched slightly off of the berth. It wasn’t thick, but the way it pressed and pushed and slid until it connected with the furthest portion of his valve—was perfect. His plating rattled.

“Ah hah… _yes…Primus, yes _…” H8D6’s vocalizer fritzed and became disconnected as Soundwave’s hips retracted, and surged forward again. And _again_. He now knew what it meant to have a flame licking at his internals; he wanted that length in him more, further, harder, and he wanted it NOW. He was playing a game with Unicron, and he was too far gone to abide by the rules any longer. To the Pits with who he was with and his original fear, this was bliss. Right now he could forget and drink in the rarity of something like this.__

Soundwave vented heavily as he rolled his hips into the wet heat. It was lovely, the sensation acute, and the way H8D6 bowed beneath him on the inward thrusts was hypnotizing. The spy rumbled; the sound emitted right next to the eradicon’s audial. H8D6 responded in turn, gasping as the telepath secured a steady thrust, withdraw, sharp roll, and grind pattern that left him hazy with the pleasure shooting up his spine. The soldier hooked his calves around Soundwave’s hips and attempted to draw the source of the ecstasy closer. As he did, the spy took one of H8D6’s legs under the knee and drew it further up, deepening the angle at which he entered the bot. The eradicon _keened_. He couldn’t hold it in, not with the spike that harassed the deepest recesses of his valve with undaunted determination. He let loose lewd sounds that stood as appreciation for the attention being delivered to him, accompanied by the wet, and heated auditory of ‘facing. He didn’t know if he was supposed to clutch at his superior the way he was, or wantonly roll up to meet him, but so far Soundwave hadn’t objected. He was pushing it, sure, but how could he be expected to just “endure” this? He was being fragged by Soundwave (he was going to fragging participate)!!

The telepath leaned over the bot further, and began to really go at it. The feral urge was biting at his spark, chewing at his processor, inciting a desire to get on with it. The mech under him held onto his shoulder seams, and something in his mind agreed with the action. Willing, accepting, writhing…the eradicon panted, and dug his digits into the spy’s armor. The telepath plowed into the supine frame beneath him, extracting sharp cries from H8D6. They were not wrought from agony, but it could have easily been mistaken for such by passersby. The legs locked around his hips trembled as he quickened his pace, concentrating the thrusts, successfully shifting the soldier further onto the berth. Soundwave gyrated his hips, taking into consideration the frantic clenching of the valve walls around him, the dampness of the edge of the berth, and the pleas spilling from H8D6’s intake.

He teetered on the edge of overload. H8D6 quivered in anticipation and stretched endurance and oh, Primus, Soundwave was too good to him! The state that had taken over his processor was a haze of confused adoration and pre-overload desperation. The superior mech allowed him to messily grab and grapple and pull him closer, all the while he was writhing like a two-shanix pleasure bot. His vents caught as the spy’s hips ground in harder, if that was even possible. Coolant collected in H8D6’s visor and dribbled down the sides as it overflowed. The red light of the optic band flickered.

“F-frag, hahhh…p-please—PLEASE!” H8D6 gasped, wriggling, and begging Soundwave. The spy growled, and punctuated his thrusts. A particularly sharp, concentrated jab to the back of his valve caused the eradicon to wail out, and tense. A gush of lubricant stained his thighs along with the Communication Officer’s, but the obsidian mech didn’t stop. Chasing his own overload, Soundwave delved into the tightening, slickened passage. His grunts, and duo-tone moans were the prominent sounds in the room, along with the ‘tick’ of the overheated eradicon’s plating. H8D6 was sensitive at this point, and acutely aware of the pressure building deep within his valve once more as the spike rubbed, pulled, and at times caught on the softest tissue. He was rendered to a completely incoherent mess, perspiring, and clutching onto the frame above him once more for dear life. His sensornet was alive, and his vocals expressed it well.

Soundwave clutched at the squirming, damp frame below him, and pushed himself on. He was so close to the sweet release that his systems craved. His own metal had become dampened by coolant, and his vents ragged from exertion. The eradicon whimpered, and held on, shaking visibly now. His visor was dimmer, and the streams of coolant left behind dark trails on his silver faceplate. H8D6 emitted ‘hmms’ and ‘hahs’ and other nonsensical, pleasure induced noises that punctuated each thrust. The second time overload crept upon the violet soldier, it tipped the assassin over as well. H8D6’s valve clamped down on the spike and held on, squeezing relentlessly. The eradicon screamed his release; Soundwave fans went into overdrive, and he groaned as liquid heat released from his spike. It was ecstasy in the purest form at that moment. H8D6’s back bowed off the berth, pressing his abdomen into the second in command’s.

_Stay online…_ the eradicon pleaded with himself. He wanted to make sure that had _really_ just happened. Hot air flooded from his vents. He basked in post overload bliss, relishing the fact that the spike was still in his valve. _Wow…that really just occurred…I just ‘faced Soundwave._

Indeed he had. The assassin still lingered, leaning over him, venting erratically. His systems were all out of whack, resetting and assessing. The gestation chamber was in primal condition, never better, and Soundwave knew it—he would never jeopardize the safety of his progeny. Everything else was fine. The question was, was the bot underneath him online? Not that it should bother him as much as it did, being a drone and all…it didn’t hurt to check though. He carefully withdrew from the spent frame of the soldier and got his answer in the form of a half-sparked whimper from the supine form. He tucked his equipment away, and scanned the eradicon’s face plate, and chassis. There were a few scuffs, but besides that, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Now about the mess below…

The spy felt slightly responsible for the disarray. He didn’t really know why, but leaving the bot here in the sticky puddle of their combined fluids seemed wrong. Soundwave was able to concentrate now, his processor cleared, and he looked around for the towels that he stored in his shelving unit. On the berth, H8D6’s dimmed visor followed his movements. He had never felt so sated, the feeling in his limbs completely gone. The spy returned with two towels in servo, and went to work. Deft servos wiped at the sensitive valve, and around it where the fluids stained. The eradicon hummed in contentment at the stimulation, not really sure if it was welcomed, but unable to really hold it in. Soundwave made sure not to miss a spot, wiping the metal of the soldier’s thighs and interface panels until there was no trace of their dalliance. After H8D6 met his standards in cleanliness, he tended to his own damp lap.

He wiped at the trails of drying fluids, making sure there was little to no paint transfer. He didn’t need to arouse suspicions in the overly excitable Knock Out, or any of the other crew members (especially not a certain seeker, who would hunt down said eradicon). It was nothing but a tryst, and not even that much. It was temporary relief that he could not have sated otherwise; this was no petty revenge. His emotions were stowed away, only now resurrecting from the recesses of his processor, focusing on something completely new—how nice it felt to have a clear mind. It directed the telepath’s attention to a neglected faction of bots that deserved it more than any mechs he knew. With a new bounce to his step, he tossed the towels aside and addressed the eradicon in his berth.

“Soundwave: will not make this a recurring event,” the assassin vocalized, emotion void in his stolid approach. “This: was a one-time occurrence. Speak of it: and repercussions will come.”

H8D6 worked hard to find his vocalizer, and when he did, it was hoarse. His limbs still laid useless next to his spent frame. _Soundwave sure packed a punch…_

“Y-yes, sir,” the eradicon whispered, attempting to speak louder, but in the end settling at the fact his vocals were gravelly and distasteful. “Will not…tssss…speak of it…chhsstt…” he got out, internally cringing at his vocalizer, which had probably been fried during the interface.

“Good,” Soundwave stated, intent now on leaving to complete his errand for the evening, the coordinates already set in his processor. He would have ample time, and the elements this solar cycle were working in his favor. It was perfectly logical, and easily attainable. Starscream would be gone a while longer, so discovery was minimal, and even if the seeker did return, he would figure out a plausible excuse. “H8D6 can rest: then make way to eradicon quarters later.”

With nothing left to address, the spy brushed the soldier’s chassis lightly, and inclined his helm before he exited his berthroom. He was set on evading the adamant doctor, who had asked for him to come in this evening for a periodical scan. His outing wouldn’t be too lengthy; Soundwave planned on being back for nightly energon, but he decided it would be wise to head out earlier rather than later. After all, the systems there were down, and he’d caught wind of a certain group of mechs suffering for their brash actions. Maybe he could add a personal touch to their punishment.


	14. Pertinacious

The medical bay was filled with the low hum of old electronic music and the clang of used tools in the wash. It had been an average solar cycle, nearly all patients having been released and given a clean bill of health. It was only the few who had sustained more serious injuries that were left being tended to by the Aston Martin, while his assistant cleaned off the used tools. Knock Out wiped his servos on a towel laid on one of the medical berths. The vehicons had been dismissed with mostly mining related injuries—a couple had come in with crushed digits, others with general wear and tear. The only one left sitting in his medical bay at this point was one that had his ped crushed under a boulder. Breakdown had told him to take a seat and offered to take a look into reformatting it, and if worst came to worst, developing a new ped for the soldier. The resolution would most likely be to throw a stabilizer on the ped, and calf plating to ensure stability and sturdiness until that time came. Knock Out was drawn out of his thoughts as violet plating caught his optic. He turned towards the eradicon, and offered a smile.

“Hello there. What seems to be the problem?”

H8D6 walked into the Med Bay with no real reason other than to check his processor. There was something wrong up there. Something really wrong to be exact. He swore he didn’t just walk from Officer Soundwave’s quarters, because that would have been insane. He still felt the spy’s deft digits prying into seams, petting his armor until acute sensations of heat lapped under them…it was all a hallucination that came most likely from his Primus-slagging high-grade addiction. _Yes, that’s it._

“Hey H8D6!” The soldier with his ped propped up greeted. His comrade didn’t seem to notice him, or chose not to. He looked a little spacey. Knock Out put a servo on his hip and cocked an optic ridge.

“Is this a spontaneous or were you on my list? Hello…?” The doctor asked in a tone that expressed his patience only stretched so far. He wasn’t about to guess what the soldier’s ailment was. From what he could see, H8D6 was fully functional.

“My bad,” H8D6 snapped out of whatever trance he walked into the Medibay immersed in. “Spontaneous. I’d like a checkup—I believe my processor is glitching.”

“Alright. Let me see if I can work that in,” Knock Out sauntered over to the console and reviewed the list for the cycle. He’d already amended it a few times, making slots for the injured eradicon on the berth, as well as the others. He’d moved Starscream’s checkup for a later date, since he’d headed out to do whatever his leader had set out to do—but wait. Soundwave had a checkup _now _. That wouldn’t do, the second in command was priority, especially considering he was well into his carrying cycle. It was imperative that he follow up on the development of the sparkling as well as his carrier, of course. “I’m sorry H8D6, your check over will have to wait. This time is allotted specifically to Officer Soundwave, although after his scan I will be free to check your processor for any abnormalities. Mind taking a seat by H4V?”__

H8D6 froze. Soundwave wasn’t here…

“Soundwave? He’s not coming I’m pretty certain—” H8D6 started, but stopped as he realized the words were said aloud. _Frag…_

Knock Out turned his helm on the dime. He’d heard it loud and clear, and it seemed his blue assistant had as well. The bay became eerily quiet as Breakdown ceased washing tools, as his interest was piqued as well. The soldier would have gladly inverted into his plating if it had been an option. The doctor’s optics were prying. Expectant.

“Now what would lead you to think that? On second thought, how would _you_ know the whereabouts of Soundwave?” The Aston Martin asked, voice deceivingly sing-song. But H8D6 knew better. Knock Out was anything but thick-helmed—he was a narcissist, no doubt, but that in no way ruled out his often underestimated keen intelligence.

H8D6 shrugged dumbly. What could he say? What Soundwave had told him before he left rung loudly in his helm. It seemed more real than ever then. The doubts that he had about the affair (if it could even be addressed as such) disintegrated to reveal the real threat that had been insinuated before the assassin’s departure.

_Speak of it: and repercussions will come._

…and now Knock Out was walking towards him. The door was right there. He could make a break for it. He didn’t need a processor checkup, he needed to evade the doctor that was nearly close enough to ensnare him. It would be an ugly domino effect that ended with him being crushed at the end…or terminated…or torn limb from limb, by the Air Commander himself…

…or dealt with by the emotionally unstable Communications Officer that had taken him to his berth not three megacycles ago…it was a “lose-lose” situation that was going to become a reality really soon. _There is the door_ , H8D6 CPU chimed in, and he turned his helm to regard the open door, then back to the approaching medic. How fast was the medic? Did it really matter at this point?

No, it doesn’t, H8D6 decided, as he launched himself from the medical berth, and tore out of the Medical bay like Unicron was on his heels. Because it was buying him some time to think. There was a string of expletives that echoed from the medical bay, and the clatter of tools. The doctor would be furious.

_Slagging idiot! Why would you go in there?! How could you slip up like that?!_

H8D6 wound by oncoming eradicons, a couple calling out to him. He skidded down the hallways, turning sharply down the one that would bring him to the eradicon sector of the ship. He punched in the code with shaking servos and bolted into the safety of the dimmer hallways. He made a break for his berthroom. His spark was swirling in its casing, and he prayed to every entity that the red medic would not come to the eradicon sector first. The soldier was venting hard when he reached his suite. H8D6 punched in the code, and stumbled into his room. The door slid shut, and he fell back into his berth.

He had clanged with Soundwave, the sparked-up bondmate of the Decepticon leader. Frag up number one. He went to Knock Out and nearly spilled that classified information. Frag up number two. He had run from a superior officer. Frag up number three. H8D6 smashed his faceplate into his servos.

The door clicked and retracted. H8D6 nearly had a spark attack. His roommate looked just as stunned at his reaction. H8D6 blew a large huff of air out of his vents and collapsed back into the berth. The door clicked shut.

“Uh…you okay? Am I interrupting something…?”

“…” H8D6 coughed. “Not at all.”

His roommate approached warily. It was no new information that H8D6 tended to be more reckless than the lot of them, but he wasn’t usually this jumpy.

“Care to explain?”

H8D6 laughed, sitting up, and shaking his helm. “Just make sure the door code is set to lock. I’m being hounded by Knock Out, and Breakdown.”

~

The air was refreshing against his alt mode’s heated panels. The closest star to earth was dimming, but the spy knew he had ample time. He knew some of Starscream’s tendencies better than the flier knew them himself. It was a relief. A moment to himself—well, as close as the telepath could get to alone. The wisp of energy fluttered around inside him at the newness of the alt mode. It must be different, considering the alteration in the location of the gestation chamber in this mode.

He dipped lower, skimming through the cloud coverage. It left condensation, slicking his smooth alt form, only to be blown away by the oncoming streams of air. Soundwave wondered what the medic had done, most likely miffed at his absence. Knock Out had been adamant about the periodical appointments to track the development of the developing sparkling. The telepath could tell it was healthy—it fluctuated thrums of content, sending warmth to his spark. There was no strain on the bond so far. The spy could detect minute nudges, and tweaks through the layers of plating that concealed his future progeny. His spark swirled at the notion.

An all too familiar base came into view. It sent prickles of wariness down his spinal connectors, through his heightened sensor net, and slammed into his spark. His violet optics narrowed, his systems making necessary connections and etching a plan of action before he followed the impulse that would surely end in failure. He had calculated the chances of failure, of course, but the chances of success quashed them. There had been no communication, no threats or signs of sabotage in orbital cycles, but that made no difference. It was a personal agenda Soundwave was following. He knew an entrance that would do. It would be better to come in at a blind angle—there was no avoiding the chance that there were systems honed to detecting foreign EM fields. He retracted his EM field as close to his armor in precaution, and flew as inconspicuously as possible.

As soon as his pedes touched down on the roof, the Communications Officer sought out a way in.

~

“What do you mean you—” H8D6 clapped a servo over his roommate’s simple intake before he was able to finish what he was about to announce loud enough to wake the dead. The restrained soldier’s optic visor glowed bright.

“Okay, R3D, announce it to the whole ship will you? What did I say?!” H8D6 glanced over at the door, as though the red medic were about to smash through it any nanoklick. “This is confidential, and if you say _anything_ , I fragging swear” H8D6 hissed, “I will tear you a new one. My spark is on the line here!”

R3D scrabbled at H8D6’s servo clamped over his face. H8D6 complied, taking into consideration that he’d do anything to restrain his roommate if there was any sign of a lie. “Primus! Just give me a klik H8D6, that’s a lot for a mech to take in!” R3D backed up a few steps. “Frag, you’re really slagged…” the soldier said as he regarded H8D6.

“Thanks for stating the obvious, moron. It’s a miracle they’re not down here yet.” H8D6 itched at his neck armor, reminding him of the way the spy had pressed into the nook between his neck, and shoulder. He shivered.

“So…what are you going to do about it?” R3D asked, realizing just how deep in this situation H8D6 was in. H8D6 shrugged helplessly.

“Wait for them to find me, I guess? I don’t know, I kind of fragged myself over by up, and leaving the doc’s office like that…” he rubbed his dimmed visor with a servo.

“Wait, what did you go in there for in the first place?” R3D asked, his tone implying he was on to something. Whether that was a good thing, H8D6 wasn’t sure.

“I thought my processor was glitching…I didn’t really believe my superior officer would stoop to facing a mech like me,” H8D6 scoffed. “Just wanted to make sure everything upstairs was in working order.”

“…and you panicked when Knocks asked you why you blurted that Sounders wasn’t going to be at his appointment, right?” R3D’s visor flickered in thought, and H8D6 was unsure if he liked where this was going.

“Well, yeah…what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ve got a solution—that is, if you’re willing to do anything to save your aft…” R3D said, and H8D6 _definitely_ did not like the tone that was shining through. Not one bit.

“What are the terms of this solution?” H8D6 asked, visor narrowing. R3D paced, tapping at his faceplate restlessly.

“You told me you thought your processor was glitching—so why not actually make it, you know, act up a little?” R3D waved a servo in the air dismissively. He was sure nonchalant about it.

“ _What_?” H8D6’s visor widened. “No. If you think I’m going to let you slagging prod around in my processor, and screw around in there, you’re insane!”

“I’m not going to touch it!” R3D held his hands up defensively. “It’s just a minor virus…promise.”

“Pit no! Nonono,” H8D6 shook his helm. “ _Just a minor virus—_ What the Pit is wrong with you?”

“Listen, okay? It won’t leave any lasting damage. Well, not that I know of…but it’ll give you a real alibi! H8D6, hear me out, okay? You suck at lying.”

 _Primus strike me down…_ Well, R3D wasn’t wrong. H8D6 rubbed the temple indents at the sides of his face plate. It always had to be him. What choice did he have? If he spilled in front of the medic, Starscream would be next in line to know. Knock Out was undoubtedly hot on his trail. He needed an excuse.

“Alright, fine! Where do we even get this? Or…contract this? Pit…” H8D6 clapped a servo to his forehelm, and suppressed a shiver. Highgrade would be appreciated at the moment. He would be glad to drown himself in it and wake up with a hangover. It would be a blessing if that was the least of his worries.

“You need to be hooked up to someone that has it…” R3D had already grabbed him, dragging him by his arm from the false safety that their berthroom offered him. H8D6 was flabbergasted, unable to utter a word as he was dragged down the hallway.

“H-hooked up?” The wanted bot sputtered.

“Yes, by cable. It’s a quick transfer that way. If they’re searching you out, you haven’t got much time.”

H8D6 swore he was going to be sick. Frag his life. Frag his cowardice. Frag Soundwave…no, he already did, Primus that brought a stream of unwanted imagery flooding into his processor. Wouldn’t it be charming, connected to a virus-ridden mech, fans sputtering to life?

He was dragged ungracefully into one of their neighbor’s suites.

~

Soundwave stuck close to the walls, audials honed on every inkling of sound. He had wound through the halls of the base, careful of any sign of activity, slinking out of the range of cameras, and taking to uninhabited rooms at the slightest hint of pedes. The risk was very real, but the percentage of success kept the spy’s optics on the end goal. When the room had come into range, the same sickening feeling twisted his fuel tanks. The door was open, so he crept in, undeterred by the feeling of dread that prodded at his processor. It was overridden by fury.

Soundwave’s feelers twisted at the sensation of information streaming over their complex internals, running in currents up and through them, and transferring them into neat glyphs that fit neatly into the already existing data files (that they had been stolen from). It was a console used to store; they had collected past victim’s information, and it was strange receiving snippets that held no relevance. The telepath sorted through file after file in quick succession, infiltrating firewalls that were no match for his expertise. He fed from the data stores that should have had multiple layers more of reinforcements, but fortunately for the Communications Officer, were pitiably lacking. They had violated him, so of course he had been out for a little enemy energon. It would have felt good, knowing that they would feel just as berated as he had. But this, this was more suiting of vengeance. The spy was out to pry into every vital document that stood, breach classified barriers, and revel in them once they packed away safely in the confines of his processing unit. He was more than halfway there.

He was tempted to find the grey wrecker. The telepath had fantasized about taking the grey bot, and chaining him up…possibly using the blow torch method on the bot. But he scratched that out. He didn’t want to fall under the typical spectrum of torture—that was for mechs with little intuition. No, the assassin decided, he would make it more personal. There would be a medical berth, pristine and cleaned, waiting for him. Soundwave would make sure he was immobilized, with only enough slack to grant him the idea that there was a way to evade what was coming for him. There would be less physical damage—possibly a few scratches, and lacerations. The real torture would begin as the spy unfurled his data collecting tentacles, crackling with charge, slithering over every open seam; but they would not be used to inflict physical burns. Oh, no, the telepath would utilize the feelers as he did now, plucking the protective seal off of the port at the base of the wrecker’s neck and plunging one in for good measure. Then a relay of give-take feedback would ensue. The crackling charge inserted into the cortical systems would ensure the smooth, and quick absorption of information.

Afterwards, he could ask the medic for advice when it came to manipulating neural networking.

For now, though, this would have to suffice. The spy cycled through documents, codes, new hardware, and keys that could be used in the future. It was not an equal act of revenge—he would deal with the wreckers when the time came. Then he could track Shockwave as well. Disgust, and betrayal roiled in his tanks. The sparkling seemed to respond to its carrier, giving a brush against the lining of its casing. He calmed himself, if only for his developing sparkling. Stress did not fare well for the wellbeing of his growing progeny. He forced the thought of the defector out of his processor. Soundwave would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The spy retracted his feeler when the flow of information ceased. He walked out of the room, a wisp of satisfaction settling in his hardened spark. Any notion of unease from his actions earlier on was quelled by the load of raw, classified information he now carried. He flew back to the Nemesis feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

~

H8D6 was on a strange berth with a foreign hardline cable connected to his own. The two cords dangled out in front of the two eradicons, a risky binding considering one was infected. H8D6 was a new host for the virus to inhabit. He had looked helplessly at R3D when the exchange began, but now, as it had been going on for some time, he had begun to panic.

“I take it back,” H8D6 began, “I don’t think this is the right choice…” there was a tremor in his vocals as he felt a _twinge_ in his processor. R3D sat, observing the two closely. The eradicon shook his helm.

“It’s risky to disconnect the cables at this point. The virus has already been initiated anyhow, so breaking the connection would do more harm than good.”

The eradicon whom was the original host for the virus looked back and forth between them and scoffed. “You’re insane. Both of you.”

“It’s a quick solution, H8D6,” R3D stammered, somehow trying to validate his reasoning. A chill ran through H8D6 as the transfer became more noticeable.

“If this screws me up, I swear R3D,” H8D6 growled. “I don’t have much of a processor to offer anyhow. What if I come out of this with slag for a processor, huh?” He wiped a shaking servo over his helm. He was damp. _Feverish_. “You’re going to live with knowing you made a pile of scrap metal outta me!”

“Stop, just stop, okay, you’re going to be fine!”

The host of the suite spoke up again, offering his knowledge to the idiots in his berthroom. “Well, considering you were the one that connected us R3D…the blame does fall technically fall on you.” He looked over to H8D6. “Not saying that you’re exempt from the consequences. Not even going to ask what you did to want to go to this extreme. Hope it doesn’t corrode your processor.”

“4Z, slag, I’m only trying to help!” R3D threw his servos in the air. The host lost it, breaking out into laughter.

“By hooking him up to me?! Ahaahhah…oh Primus, you all are a sad lot,” the host continued to laugh and H8D6 buried his helm in his servos. 4Z felt a little pity for the poor fool. Whatever it was he was trying to evade by doing this must have been a hideous enough situation. “I can see the coolant from over here—I take it you are you feeling hot?”

“Yeah…feel like I’m melting,” H8D6 rubbed his faceplate. This was only the beginning.

“You’re t 92%...” R3D calculated, “Give it about three more klicks.”

“Easy for you to say.” H8D6 groaned. His processor pounded. 

“Just hope it was worth it for you, mech,” 4Z said, and patted his connected guest’s shoulder plating. “Oh, and just a little tip? I’d report to Knock Out as soon as possible.”

“…97%,” R3D announced.

“Won’t need to. He’s the one searching for me,” H8D6 responded to 4Z.

“Well, frag. I don’t want to be involved. If you’ve got Knock Out in this, I’m definitely NOT.” 4Z remarked defensively. “After the transfer, you two are out.”

“Fair enough,” H8D6 grumbled, feeling like absolute slag. The interior of his helm was throbbing, and he frankly could care less now if Knock Out found him. He wouldn’t need to lie if he couldn’t think straight anyhow.

“…100%.”

“Primus, just get it out,” H8D6 ordered in a meek tone. R3D didn’t hesitate to disconnect the cables. As soon as he was released, H8D6 pushed up off the berth and stumbled across the room towards the door. R3D muttered a ‘thanks’, not really knowing what else to say to 4Z. “’M gonna be sick…”

“I know,” R3D responded as they exited, not exactly proud of what his brilliant plan had brought on. “Knocks won’t be so suspicious now, though. He’ll just assume it was a symptom of the virus.”

H8D6 was definitely feeling the effects. “Hope you’re right…” H8D6 said under his breath.

As though he had been summoned, the form of a red Aston Martin stormed down the hallway. His blue assistant was right behind him, not missing a beat. “I’m looking for H8D6—I was pointed this way. Room 67B?” Knock Out vented heavily, obviously worn out. H8D6 tensed.

“Look no further,” R3D responded, and nudged the aching frame of H8D6 towards the medic. H8D6 nearly fell into the doctor. “He’s been acting all out of sorts lately—skittish and whatnot. I told him to come to you earlier this solar cycle. Just got back from my shift, and he told me he ran from you. I was just about to walk him back to your end of the ship.”

 _Thanks for having my back…_ H8D6 thought, suddenly very finicky about his situation. A fat droplet of coolant ran down his faceplate, and into the cables of his neck.

“Thank you Primus, I searched every corner of this ship!” The medic remarked, obviously not too impressed. H8D6 shrank into himself, feeling those ruby optics on his plating. “He’ll be glad to have you looking out for him if this is what I suspect.”

H8D6’s visor flickered in trepidation. What was that supposed to mean? Was it worse than 4Z made it out to be? 

“Breakdown? Would you mind helping me to escort our escapee?” There was still a glint in the medic’s optics, and H8D6 nearly balked once more. He couldn’t avoid Breakdown’s large servos though. He was caught—caught with a doctor that looked a little more than miffed. The soldier tensed, his vents stuttering. “Keep a good hold on him—can’t have him getting loose in this condition.”

“I’ve got him,” the blue mech responded. Knock Out was not a fool, although he was used to being taken for one. He’d get the information out of the eradicon, or so help him…if Starscream returned with Soundwave on spontaneous leave, he prayed for the rest of the ship’s inhabitants. The doctor had attempted to comm the spy to no avail. There was no response—not even the hint that connection had even been established. What was more aggravating was the flier cassette was just as clueless as to the whereabouts of her master. It always fell on him, didn’t it? Fragging Soundwave and his decision making…he was carrying and the evasive telepath still couldn’t be held down.

He’d confront the lieutenant once he, and Starscream worked it out.

~

The evening air was cool, riddled with the impending chill of the arriving night cycle. Soundwave probably should have headed back to the ship. It was impulsive and presumptuous that there would be no complications in his absence, but the spy’s plating was hot again. The telepath reveled in the chill of the winds against every outer panels, sliding across his transformation seams and soothing the aches, and pains away where the alt mode strained from his weight gain. He had probably put the medic into a mood fit to kill by missing the set appointment, but he could deal with that later on. Soundwave dipped to the left, and circled back around to meet the Nemesis, a dark grey spec in the dim evening sky. It was about time he should turn in. The wash wracks seemed like a nice option, considering the heat still prickled along his sensors. It was a shame the air couldn’t have quelled the sensation.

He touched down in his bipedal mode on the uppermost levels of the Nemesis, on one of the landing pads. The spy proceeded to make his way into the main levels of the Nemesis. The hallways were littered with a few eradicons here, and there, and thank Primus no Knock Out. The telepath was doubtful he could have dealt with the medic at this point. His processor revolved around a cool spray from the wash rack tap, summoning the steam from every piece of his plating, and relieving him of the waves of heat he was condemned to suffer. Soundwave headed straight for his shared quarters. His digit skittered over the keys, opening the door. An EM field slammed into his own then, taking him completely by surprise, causing him to flinch, and meet the gaze of—

_Starscream._

The door slid shut behind the assassin, as though signaling just how terse the situation had become, reminding him he had to face the seeker. He hadn’t expected Starscream back, he realized, and it hit in now how stupid his assumption was. The seeker was tense, his wings hiked up high on his back, and his red eyes ablaze. Soundwave held his gaze through his mask.

“Where _were _you?” Starscream’s voice was strangely calm, considering he looked fit to blow a gasket. “Knock Out was left waiting for you, unable to establish contact, and I as well had no such luck.”__

The Communications Officer did regret disabling his comm. It was immature, and foolish, undoubtedly. There was more than anger in the winglord’s optics, and he didn’t like it. The spy was left speechless, fumbling to conjure up a believable excuse. It wouldn’t do in the end. This was his leader, and more importantly, his partner. A lie would put strain on their relationship, and lead to future suspicion, and distrust. Soundwave did not want that. No, that wouldn’t do. The flier’s optics narrowed, and he took a few steps towards Soundwave.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

“Seeking: retribution for wrongs done to Soundwave,” Soundwave responded coolly. His vocalizer dipped at the end, as though it refused to consent to the words being spoken. It took a moment for the seeker to gather what that entailed exactly. He clutched the frame of the large berth harshly, claws biting into the metal structure, and he hissed.

“ _What_? My audials must be deceiving me, because I was wholly convinced you just said—”

“Starscream: heard correctly.” The telepath spoke, a wisp of irritation culminating within him. If he was going to be approached head on with his Starscream’s blaring EM field, he couldn’t expect Soundwave’s not to spike as well. “Actions were necessary. Vital information: was secured in the process—makes up for Soundwave’s weakness before!”

“You did not…” Starscream growled, rage evident in his crimson optics. His upper derma pulled up into something resembling a snarl. Soundwave reached up to his mask, and manually released his latches. They made profound little ‘clicks’ as they were opened. The telepath lifted it down, and away from his face. Two could play at this. Soundwave’s plating was sizzling, his mood ruined, and he was going to give the seeker a piece of what he was feeling.

“On the contrary: Soundwave _did _, in fact.” The telepath set the mask down on a stand next to the door. “Right from under the enemies considering: they were all there.” Soundwave couldn’t help the satisfaction that made his spark spin giddily in its chamber. Starscream was beside himself with fury.__

“You went to the Autobot base after what they did to you…did it not occur to you that you are fragging _sparked _, Soundwave! I already almost lost you once—” the irate seeker approached his bonded. “—almost lost _both_ of you once before,” he said, softening his voice momentarily. The seeker’s anger was renewed when he came close enough to touch the telepath. “Why? Why in the Pit would you do that, Wave?!”__

“Personal endeavors,” Soundwave spat. “Starscream: will never fully comprehend! To be exploited in front of the enemy, to have everything stripped away: as they mock and berate,” Soundwave shoved at his consort’s chassis. “To lose again…and again, to wait for Autobots to cease torture, to have integrity stolen—all for what?” The spy’s optics burned. “For Starscream!” The telepath lashed out again, delivering a pointed shove to Starscream’s chassis.

“So you go out there, and do it all over again? Soundwave,” the seeker reached out to the bristling spy, “…baby, it tears me apart. You’re right, I don’t know, but I am _trying _,” the seeker said, trying to get his mate to see his concern, his righteous anger. Soundwave was having none of it.__

“No: Starscream does _not_. Should try harder,” the telepath hit him again, not as hard this time, but making a point sure enough. “Soundwave: did it for no one this time. It was necessary…for Soundwave.”

“…and putting yourself and the sparkling in danger was necessary to do so?!” Starscream scoffed.

“Yes!” Soundwave growled, and instead of nailing the chassis in front of him with another blow, he pulled himself flush against the Air Commander. Starscream tensed as a burning hot chassis came into contact with his. The seeker felt the dermas of his mate brush along his throat cables, warm breath ghosting along the sensitive metal of the portions in between. “It was. It was necessary: to rebuild confidence, that Soundwave: is still the mech from before. Autobots: took so much…”

There was silence for a moment as Starscream reigned in his anger to see optic to optic with Soundwave. He considered how hard it was for the telepath, having to live with the knowledge he failed in more than one aspect in his CPU. He was trying to make it better. The assassin was taken advantage of, made an example, and Starscream was only pushing him after all that had happened to him…where was his spark?

Soundwave was carrying his sparkling. Soundwave had given him a reason, a purpose that he wouldn’t have achieved alone. Why was he fighting with him again? His fear should have been remedied, yet instead, he had burst into anger. Soundwave was capable. The ex-gladiator, assassin class mech was strong, and Starscream had to adjust his thoughts to support that statement. He would believe it eventually, after he repeated it enough…the winglord sighed.

“Of course, precious…I am sorry.” Starscream searched the telepath’s face, holding his gaze. “Just…just tell me next time, before you do something like this? _Please _? You are so dear to me, the thought of losing you…” The seeker scowled.__

“Have a little faith: Starscream,” Soundwave, his tone laced with something chiding, yet…sensual. The spy bit down on a prominent cable lining his leader’s neck. _Hard_. The seeker released a gasp, at which Soundwave rumbled. In the pit of his abdomen, something twisted in response to his proximity to Starscream. The telepath laved his tongue over the area he had abused, smearing oral fluid, and pressing a kiss to the area. He peered into Starscream’s optics, expressing the seriousness that settled into his spark at the mentioning of the sparkling.

“Soundwave: is sensible. Starscream: will trust judgment in the future?” Soundwave allowed his digits to press, and knead into the cables running down the commander’s neck and beneath his shoulder plates. The telepath pressed a kiss to his lover’s jaw, waiting for an answer from the deeply perturbed seeker. Soundwave grazed his dentas gently over an audial. “Soundwave: would never let harm come to sparkling.”

“Never again,” Starscream growled, “Will you leave without alerting me,” the flier caught the assassin’s gaze. They held the eye contact for more than what was necessary, reading each other, and feeling out one another’s EM fields. Then their lips were locked, leaving any words to be spoken forgotten.

Soundwave’s vents were the first to fill the atmosphere with their noise, the intensity suggesting his adamancy for contact. The more, the better, the telepath decided, pressing into the sweltering kisses as though they were his life line. The spy nipped at Starscream’s dermas, leaving them stinging, and the seeker wanting more. Soundwave’s dermas molded to his consort’s, his glossa probing questioningly. Starscream clutched at his deputy’s extended waist possessively, following each movement that his consort made. The seeker moved a servo down Soundwave’s front, caressing his heaving chassis, tracing the contours of every distended piece of plating, and cupping the curve where their little one was nestled deep within. Soundwave clutched the servo, intertwining their digits, and guiding the servo southward. The panel was burning, exceedingly hot to the touch.

Starscream scratched lightly against the panel, reveling in the moan from his mate. Soundwave’s free servo clutched at his plating, threatening to dent it. The moan turned to insistent pants once the pressure of the scratching increased to rubbing, occasionally dipping into seams bordering the panel.

Starscream nudged at Soundwave’s jaw, sucking at the cables running up, and around the slender neck, grazing his denta over them. Breathy moans were enough to encourage the flier to continue, kissing at the more sensitive spots and manipulating them with flicks of his tongue. The servo tugged harder, and Starscream looked up questioningly.

“Berth?” Soundwave asked, vocalizer glazed with lust. Starscream’s optics darkened, and he wrapped his servos around supple, dark thighs. The spy wrapped his arms around Starscream’s neck, and nuzzled his face. The seeker laid his shapely spy on the plush covers. Soundwave wriggled, impatient for Starscream’s attention. The telepath let his thighs fall open, running a digit through the righter-most seam beside his hot panel, collecting a drip of lubricant that had escaped, spreading it around. Starscream got onto the berth, leaning forward to kiss dark grey dermas, then a slender chin while he palmed Soundwave’s panel. It retracted with no hesitation under his servo. The winglord smirked, and scooted back, observing the dark, plush valve that glistened with ample lubricant. He’d sworn he’d seen nothing more exquisite.

The seeker leaned down, faceplate even with the perfect valve. He pressed his tongue to the soft mesh surrounding the entrance, nipping lightly at the engorged node that stood out at the apex of the valve. Soundwave jerked. Starscream ran his servos over his mate’s heated thighs, soothing, massaging as he lathered the valve…it elicited little cries, and fast panting from the spy. He knew his bonded was more sensitive because of carrying, and it made it all the more intense. Starscream moaned, and Soundwave tensed as it resonated through his pelvic circuitry. A servo found its way to the seeker’s helm, petting lovingly. It prompted the seeker to thrust his glossa into the quivering passage.

The thighs beside his helm tensed, pedes kicking out, and the ring around his glossa clenched at the intrusion, attempting to suck the nimble appendage in further. Starscream licked, alternating angles, and did not cease his ministrations on the dark mech’s thighs. Soundwave arched, wanting more, more of that, more of the sensation that made his processor spin and his mouth fall open.

“Mm _Star_ …mmmhahhh…” Soundwave’s abdomen tensed periodically, and somewhere the sparkling nudged lightly, responding to its carrier’s bliss. Overload was a step away. He was on the verge, and it was tempting, no doubt, but the telepath pushed at Starscream’s helm. “S-star…hah, _Starscream_!”

The seeker glanced up, tongue running over his upper derma. Soundwave’s optics followed it, that dark glossa the object of his fascination. It was able to produce such sharp pangs of pleasure, processor blowing overloads, and spark melting kisses. The deputy sat up on shaking arms, and settled onto his knees (unsteadily, at first, thrown off by his distended abdomen). He then captured Starscream’s dermas, searching that glossa out for himself. He pressed into the winglord, maneuvering them so that their places were switched. He gave Starscream a light shove, making the leader lean back into the pillows at the head of the berth. The spy had no doubt he was leaving a mess on the sheets. His valve was desperate for contact, creating excessive, sticky trails down the insides of his thighs. His fans were roaring in approval. Starscream’s optics portrayed his interest in the frame that moved over him. Soundwave took a seat atop the flier’s pelvic region, plopping down so that his back was to his partner.

Wet. Hot. _Yes_ , the Air Commander decided, _please_. Those thick hips atop him gyrated, pressed down, and created sinfully good friction. If that wasn’t enough, Soundwave’s optics re-concentrated on his own, undeniably _hungrily_ as he glanced back over his shoulder.

Starscream’s panel slid back, and on the instant, his spike was cradled in lithe digits, held against moist folds. Soundwave deviously stroked, digits carefully running under, and around the spike as though it was the most treasured, delicate thing he’d ever had the privilege of touching. Starscream hummed his approval, watching his dark beauty silently. _Primus Soundwave…_

Soundwave leaned forward, and guided the head of the spike to his sopping valve entrance. He eased down, taking in the entire spike in one go. Starscream’s concern was clouded by the sweltering heat. He clamped his servos down on the telepath’s soft hips, and squeezed. Soundwave’s response was a sigh. His valve flexed around the more than welcome intrusion.

“ _Soundwave_ ,” the seeker groaned out as the spy lifted his hips, and slid back down, sheathing the spike once more. It was absolutely wonderful, the rod touching the deepest nodes, prodding the gestation chamber entrance. This was a problem, how good this felt, because at this rate Soundwave would never forfeit his position atop Starscream. Not with the way the tip of the winglord’s spike was ramming up into him, sending electric jolts up through his spinal plating, and leaving his legs numb and void of feeling.

“Yes! Yes, just like that! Like that—” Soundwave threw his helm back, grinding down on the rod inside of him, reveling in the way Starscream rolled his hips, punctuating sharp thrust upwards occasionally.

“ _Harder_ ,” the telepath moaned, feeling his channel tightening. Lubricant was pooling beneath him steadily, dousing Starscream’s lap. The spy moved with a purpose, nearly bouncing atop the Air Commander. The spy’s optic’s opened at the unexpected movement as the seeker sat up, and pulled his back flush against his chassis. He was situated in the winglord’s lap, still skewered on the hard spike. The assassin resumed his previous pace.

“Wait,” Starscream said, voice husky with lust. Soundwave complied reluctantly, confused at the interruption. He nearly squeaked in surprise as Starscream nuzzled the side of his helm, and pressed a kiss to his temple as he reached down to fondle the swollen lips of his valve. When he did, it was in a fluid motion that the seeker thrusted back into the telepath, making him keen. Every ridge, every minute little imperfection brushed against the highly sensitive top of his valve canal. His legs were parted, draped over lighter silver ones that tensed with each thrust up. “Mmmm yes, perfect…you are perfect, Wave.”

“Sta-Star!” Soundwave grappled for a servo to hold, and settled when one wrapped around his torso, holding him in place. The other lingered, fingering the mesh folds of his valve, and swirling around his swollen anterior node. The spy’s own hips sought out a pattern, rolling down, and trying desperately to engulf the entirety of the other’s spike.

“Love you, _hnn_ , like this,” Starscream flicked the soft anterior node between his digits to punctuate his words. He mouthed Soundwave’s throat cables, leaving wet spots, and small, periodic nips that made the spy’s valve clench.

“ _More_ ,” Soundwave breathed, feeling the sensation deep within his abdomen blaze. He squeezed the servo holding him there, and laid his helm back on his bonded’s shoulder. He moaned out as the sensation coiled ever tighter.

“Of course precious.” Starscream complied, propelling his spike deeper, grinding into the tightening passage. It was all kinds of ecstasy. Soundwave held onto the servo harder, feeling the skilled digits at his node, coaxing overload with every stroke, and the spike nosing its way further in, poking, prodding…

Then there was a slight pinch, and the telepath’s valve cycled down. The pressure inside his valve increased, and he screamed out. Excess lubricant doused the seeker’s lap, and the sheets, and anything else in its wake. His frame bowed in overload, and still the hips beneath him powered on. The spike was unable to move far, but nonetheless it rubbed insistently, creating delicious friction against the sensitized valve walls. It was Primus given. Soundwave writhed, wrapped up in the extension of overload, and sobbed in the euphoric sensations Starscream influenced.

_Yes…yes…_

Starscream grunted as the valve tightened, the head of his spike successfully lodged deep within his consort. It felt right. He continued to move, even as Soundwave tensed beautifully and announced his overload with no reservations. It was wet, heated, and the atmosphere hung heavy with the scent of interface. He ground into the silky valve maybe a moment more, with Soundwave’s frame twitching, and his head nestled into his shoulder, before he let go. The seeker let out a slightly pained grunt as transfluid was released. Soundwave’s servo found his, which was still positioned between both of their thighs, and squirmed at the sudden blossoming of heat in his gestation chamber. The spy’s vents stuttered.

Starscream leaned back. Soundwave’s optics were half-lidded, deciding the seeker’s shoulder was perfect to use as a pillow. The assassin’s vents released hot puffs of air, but his plating seemed to be cooling off. Starscream shifted his legs slightly, trying not to pull for Soundwave’s sake, and rubbed his servo comfortingly over the curved abdomen. The telepath cooed, and released a contented sigh. If the Decepticon Lord wasn’t mistaken, there was a fluttering where his servo pressed gently into the metal. Curiously, he caressed the bump, and was delighted to feel movement where he rested his servo.

“I feel it…” The seeker rumbled, optics trained on the spot where his servo lay. It roused Soundwave enough for him to chirr.

“Sparkling recognizes Sire’s spark energy. Sparkling likes it when Starscream is near.” He whispered into the winglord’s audial.

The seeker couldn’t help but smile at that, feeling warmth spread through his spark. It was a foreign concept still—a sparkling of his own. An heir that the seeker never contemplated having, but nevertheless, he did not want to imagine what it would be like any other way. The little thing shifted under his servo, as if trying to press into it through the barrier between them.

“I like its presence as well…I want to know what they’re thinking…” the flier said, mesmerized. “What they look like…if they have your optics or mine.” Starscream’s smile alone was enough to settle his bonded, reassuring the telepath that his choice for a sparkmate was validated. These were the little instances, the nuances that defined Starscream’s character around his consort compared to out in public. He couldn’t help pressing a kiss to the edge of the soon-to-be sire’s dermas, and lacing his finger’s with Starscream’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how this happened, what is wrong with me, so many decisions to make and ah, I don't know how or why the first part ended this way. I'm not really that happy with it, I'm going to apologize for my disorderly writing, it's a true expression of my brain functionality right now. I'd love suggestions for the next part of the series, in which there will be a fully functional plot and will most likely come out a lot better altogether. I'll gladly accept ideas that might enhance the storyline. Thank you so much for sticking with this, my lovely readers, I appreciate all of you and the feedback you've given me! <3


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